


The Most Dangerous Game

by JocelynTorrent



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 160,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JocelynTorrent/pseuds/JocelynTorrent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Inquisition, but after Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts. Briala and Celene attempt to forge an alliance while still trying to pick up the pieces of their broken relationship.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <img/></p>
<p>Art by the AMAZING cheesesexuality.tumblr.com !!!!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Briala had memorized the statues leading up to the palace. When she was young and afraid, each name passed was another step closer to or further away from safety. As Celene's handmaiden even before she was empress, she rarely went out on personal errands. Less important servants could tend to that. But there were still a few moments where, according to her mistress, "it simply could not wait." And with an elegant wave of the hand she would be sent out of the safety of ornate iron bars and armed guards and into the reality of Val Royeaux. There was no question that Val Royeaux deserved the praise it garnered from bards and historians alike. It was beautifully decadent, designs and flourishes flooding from even the molding in the streets. Music bubbled all around, lutes and bards all harmonizing their songs with the ever present chant of light that hummed from the Grand Cathedral. And the flowers were always in bloom, no matter the season, coating the air with a sweet, fresh scent. But beyond that, beyond the molded streets and beyond where bards and historians dare travel was Briala's Val Royeaux. The elven alienage, thousands strong, cramped and clustered into makeshift houses. The singing of the city was drowned out by the screeching of sick children and the elderly in pain. Light dared not travel down the tight roads and so the flowers did not bloom, and the smell of sickness and poverty stung unfamiliar nostrils.

But this was her home. These were her people, and the shame stung worse than her nose ever could. She hated venturing into the alienage with her finer clothes. Still servants' clothes, of course, but of a higher quality than what usually graced the alienage. When running those errands she made sure to be as quick as possible. Not to please her mistress but to decrease her chances of attack. Poorer, degenerate humans also wandered the alienage, and when she stuck out, she was a target. Wisdom and her bard training made her unafraid now, but nothing could be done about her nose and Briala sniffed at the memory.

"Admiring the statues, my lady?" A soft voice came from behind.

Briala turned slowly, her face hardening behind her mask, prepared to engage in the Game until she saw who inquired upon her. "Inquisitor Trevelyan. How nice to see you again." She gave the Inquisitor a sincere smile and was pleased to see it returned.

"Though I suppose it's 'marquise' now, instead of my lady," Trevelyan answered, dipping her head in a bow that implied they were equals.

Trevelyan had been instrumental in Briala's new title and the execution of Grand Duke Gaspard. Without him, the empire was far more prepared to deal with the impending ramifications of the rift. Trevelyan didn't have to go so far as to help Briala as well, but she did, and thus was deemed a decent woman in Briala's book.

"Briala to you, my friend," she answered. The Inquisitor, being a noble from Ferelden, was adequately skilled at the Game, but the lack of mask and shine to her eyes told Briala that she was not playing and there was no need for extraneous measures of conversation.

Trevelyan smiled at her before gesturing to the complement of Inquisition soldiers behind her. "We were just making an extremely important purchase,” she said, holding up a plain wooden box.

For a moment, Briala wondered if the Inquisitor had actually purchased the infamous Mystery Box. But she soon shook the thought from her mind. No one of the Inquisitor’s caliber would ever do something so ridiculous.

“It is good to see you again.”

“I'm glad I get to bid you farewell before I go," Trevelyan answered. Her eyes glanced downward momentarily and fell upon the crest that was buttoned to Briala's dress. "Forgive me if I'm keeping you from your duties."

"I have time. In fact I'd welcome the distraction."

Briala extended her hand and Trevelyan instantly took it, escorting the elf toward the palace gates.

"Reluctant to see the Empress?" Trevelyan asked lightly, her brow furrowed as she examined one of the passing busts. "Or perhaps, like me, you tire of endless, prattling meetings."

She was fishing. It was obvious and they both knew it, but Trevelyan had done right by Orlais, and she deserved Briala's trust. The elf hummed softly as she thought of what could pacify the Inquisitor without prompting further questions. She also hoped the hum would indicate a better mood than how she currently felt. For all her good intentions, Trevelyan knew nothing of Celene and Briala's betrayals of one another. Knew nothing of murdered parents and broken promises. For her it was merely a controversial romance. One that all of Orlais would be so lucky to be swept up in.

"You made great strides for Orlais and for elves back in Halamshiral, Inquisitor. For that I am grateful. But...these things take time. And I know it cannot be changed overnight. The thought is...daunting."

Trevelyan chuckled as they reached the palace gates. "Forgive me, it's just that the Empress said something quite similar the other night."

"Yes, I suppose she would agree with the sentiment."

Trevelyan took Briala's hand and kissed the top of it politely, dipping her head once more. "It was a pleasure to see you again, Briala. I wish you and Celene the best of luck with your upcoming changes. May they happen overnight. But if they don't...I'll help in any way I can."

"Orlais will be ready when you call. You will be missed, Inquisitor. Safe travels."

As Trevelyan stepped away, Briala turned and made her way to the palace guards. It dawned her as she made her way to the bright marble steps that she had never actually used this entrance before. Even when accompanying Celene out of the city she was required to take the servants' entrance. The guards, two chevaliers, kept their hands on their swords as she approached. Their faces were obscured by their helmets, but she could still feel their glares upon her and fought the instinct to lower her head. She had a dagger concealed beneath her wrist, a necessity for anyone in Orlais, and bent her hand slightly to find comfort in the cool blade.

When she was close enough to be addressed, one of the chevaliers lifted his hand for her to stop and produced a scroll from his belt. The crest of the Empress on her dress flared in the sunlight and she took small relief in that. The crest meant that she was expected, welcome. There should be no trouble. However, no such thing was ever certain in Val Royeaux.

"Marquise Briala of the Dales," she announced proudly, keeping her eyes set on the chevalier with the scroll.

His fingers tensed ever so slightly at her words. The chevalier beside him adjusted his footing. Clearly uncomfortable, and clearly not at all skilled at the Game. Celene should be more diligent about who she has making first impressions at her palace. Then again, the Empress does not concern herself with such trivial matters. The thought angered her and cast an impatient eye on the chevalier.

"Welcome, Marquise Briala of the Dales," he said finally, putting extra effort into the politeness of his tone. "An escort will meet you at the top of the stairs. Enjoy your stay at the royal palace. Long live Empress Celene."

The second chevalier went about unlocking the massive golden gates and gave a customary bow as she passed. The front of the palace was designed to intimidate and to awe and taking this route for the first time, Briala could understand how it was achieved. The steep marble steps were immaculate, sprinkled with gold that shimmered in the sun. However the glare of the decadence forced her eyes upward, where the palace appeared to loom over her. Its architecture was exquisite and its power was absolute and the entire entry was made to remind visitors of that with every step upward. Even the tall bushes surrounding the stairs were thick, littered with beautiful flowers that possessed poisonous thorns. A true symbol of Orlais. A message that screamed not to confuse luxury with weakness. An effective tactic, and she fought down her smirk as she reached the top of the stairs.

If she had climbed these very stairs just after her traipse through the Eluvians, she might very well have been intimidated. She probably would have lowered her head as she ascended the steps and cowered before Celene’s very presence.

Oh, how things had changed. Now, not only was she in control of several Eluvians throughout Orlais and Ferelden, but she also had an army of elves at her disposal. Currently, when not training, they kept her network of information flowing, using the Eluvians with ease to pass messages and information unseen. Given what information she was passed for this meeting, Celene had not done anything to cause concern. Then again, no one could keep a secret like the Empress. Briala sighed as she reached the top of the stairs, dropping her thoughts to focus on the Game at hand.

Waiting for her was a servant she did not recognize. This was not surprising, considering how often the palace recycled the help. What was interesting, however, was that the servant was a human. He was young, barely a man, with dusty brown hair that looked to be smoothed back quickly. He fidgeted in his clothes and kept his eyes to the floor. Briala knew that he was not afraid of her. Noble or not, she was still an elf. Even for a young man, he was still a full head taller than her. Why then, did he fidget so? Then she noticed the sheen of sweat near the collar of his shirt and watched as he scratched underneath the cuff of his jacket. It dawned on her then that he was unused to being in such formal wear. That's when it clicked, and Briala had to fight back a bitter laugh.

Celene had specifically sent a human to wait on her. There were undoubtedly more elven servants than humans, and most of them did the escorting of visiting dignitaries. Briala had even done a few herself when Celene required extra information on a visitor. Did the Empress want her to see this as a sign of goodwill? Of understanding? Did she think that subjugating one person over the other was a mark of change? Or was it merely to get a rise out of her? Briala supposed she would only get an answer if she asked, and so she accepted the human's sputtered pleasantries and allowed him to lead her into the palace.

All eyes were upon her as the servant led her up to the guests' quarters. Elves and humans alike pretended to go about their business. But she could see the cautious, curious glances through their cheap, painted masks. Briala’s mask was made of shimmering veridium, with gold inlaid to imply her features. She had decided against adding jewelry to the mask. The power was in the metal itself, and foregoing extravagance implied that she meant business. Unused to the weight of such a fine mask, it rested almost painfully on her cheeks and nose. But the almost hopeful looks on the elves’ faces as she passed was enough to make her forget any minor annoyance. Times were changing and an elf was in a moderate position of power. How would Orlais handle it, much less the rest of Thedas? Only time would tell, and Briala was prepared to martyr this change if need be.

"Her Imperial Majesty welcomes you to Val Royeaux and hopes you will find the accommodations suitable," the servant said before stopping at a door and pulling it open with a bow.

Briala noted that the script hadn't changed as she stepped into the luxurious room. If she hadn't been privy to the Empress' bedchamber in the past, she would have thought that nothing could exceed this room. She also knew for a fact that this was the nicest bedroom in the guest quarters, fit for a visiting monarch.

It was a smart play by Celene, and Briala stepped inside to hide her reddening face from the servant. She was here to do right for her people. The people that didn't have so much as a dry place to sleep on, much less a bed that could hold four people comfortably with royal silk sheets. Celene was trying to rile her up before their meeting and it was working. She heard the servant quietly clear his throat behind her and quickly gave the answer he was looking for.

"This is quite suitable. Thank you," she said, keeping her back to him.

"Her Radiance wishes to meet with you in an hour's time, whereupon you shall dine together," he began, and in spite of herself Briala began to mime his words. She'd given this speech so many times before it made her ears ring just to hear it. "If you approve, I shall summon you in an hour's time. A bath has been drawn for your convenience. Her Radiance wishes you an excellent stay."

Briala nodded and soon heard the door click shut behind her. She breathed a sigh at finally being alone. The palace was familiar to her, comforting. There was a consistency to the delicate footsteps outside the hall and the silence that came from privilege. As lovely as the Dales was, she had not yet gotten used to the overgrown foliage and humid temperatures. And she had been so busy coordinating the elves, Eluvians, and information that she had barely gotten any time to herself. No rest for the wicked. Hardly time for a bath. But as she glanced at the tub, the smell of lavender emanating from the rising steam, she thought Celene could be made to wait for once.

Briala's attempts proved to be in vain, however. Since there was no one to share the bath with, she grew bored of it once she had cleaned herself and had been ready for several minutes when the servant came knocking again. Used to an efficient pace, Briala struggled with lagging behind the servant, who didn't seem to realize her impatience. The servants were supposed to watch their visitors for clues on how slowly or quickly to lead, but he seemed determined only to get her where she needed to be, nothing more, nothing less. It wasn't that she was dissatisfied with being waited on. She wasn't a hypocrite. But she was a firm believer in working hard and doing a job right. Still, was it not hypocritical to judge this boy for a task he was ill-suited for? One that he did not intend or ask for. The mask she wore did well to hide her embarrassment at her own thoughts and she slowed her pace on their way to the dining room.

It took all of Briala's training in the Game not to react when the servant in the dining room pulled out her chair. One of Celene's, and many players of the Games', most basic tactics when it came to negotiations was to make her guest just the slightest bit uncomfortable. Not overtly so, not enough to warrant mention, but just enough for the guest to notice. Whether it be an open window on a chilly day, a servant with loud breathing, or a well-placed chair in front of a fire, Celene always made sure there were other things on her guests' minds. It distracted them and gave her the upper hand.

So when the servant pulled back the chair that sat opposite the fire, it was difficult not to correct her. She had been expected to be sat next to the fire, where the heat would get to her and the food would be overly decadent for such a temperature. She'd even worn a light, breathable dress to help with her discomfort. However, despite her puzzlement, she graciously sat in the chair offered to the right of Celene rather than the left. As the servants poured her wine and set the food Briala pondered as to what Celene's intent might be. It appeared that she was trying to, in a way, put on a show of good sportsmanship for what was to come. But alternatively, the things she was doing were so obvious to Briala, there had to me more to it. Celene would know that Briala would notice these obvious changes as well. Was she playing a different angle at making the elf uncomfortable? If so, Briala hated that it was working. She was becoming distracted by all of the changes when she should have been focusing on the Dales. Instead of preparing her points for the elves she was questioning seating arrangements. She fought to conceal the anger rising in her chest, and stood abruptly as the door opened, and the Empress entered, accompanied by another servant.

"Her Royal Majesty, Empress Celene the First of Orlais," the servant announced in a small voice, as it was just the two of them.

Briala watched as Celene strode in, always graceful. She was as pale and proud as always, the fire casting an orange glow on her exposed shoulders. It blended well with her Crimson dress, embroidered with flamboyant golden flame. Her mask this evening was made of pearl, inlaid in more gold, with small rubies lining her eyes. She had even added ribbons into the braids of her hair, the same color as her dress and she never looked more like The Empress of Fire than she did now.

Briala suppressed the bile building at the back of her throat. This was a low and dirty blow. Was she proud of the fact that she had burned Halamshiral's alienage to the ground? Proud of the powerful nickname it had given her? The fire on her left touched her shoulders gently, bathed her in its warmth, and accepted her as its own. Even the gold chain that wrapped around her neck and delved into her bosom glowed radiantly. Briala felt herself sweating. Fire burned her, burned her people, and Celene was taunting that fact in front of her. She refused to let it show. Celene gave Briala a polite smile and when she moved closer to the table, the billowing of her dress reminded her of the curtains she hid behind when her parents were murdered. It was the same shade of Crimson, soaking up her parents' blood and trying to hide it from her, even as she slipped on their carnage.

"Your Radiance," Briala stated, curtsying low as was customary. "You look ever like the fire you have so long reigned with."

It was a small barb, a test of sorts. What would Celene do now that her clever color choice had been announced? It was no longer fun when the Game was spoiled. Would she attempt to show remorse for Halamshiral to tempt Briala back to her good side? Celene was the most skilled player in all of Orlais at the game, however, and her face betrayed nothing as she sat, Briala following her lead.

"Fire is an interesting creation. A lot of frivolity for not a lot of heat, don't you think?" She turned and extended her hand towards the fireplace, the orange flames licking at her fingers. How it loved her so. "Look at it bite, ever seeking, ever destroying. It doesn't think, it just attacks. Yet it is so weak." Without looking from the fire she summoned the servant to her left. He came forward, his water jug in hand, and as he lifted it to fill her glass she took the jug and dumped the contents onto the fire. It hissed loudly, steamed, then died out. The light dimmed significantly, the only source being the flickering candles on the table. One of them continued to lap at Celene's cheek, reflecting the gold in her mask. "Water. The simplest of all things. The most unassuming, unafraid. People forget that it has the power build canyons and drown armies." Her eyes flickered back to Briala. "And it likes it that way, I think."

Briala took a deep breath and tried to collect her thoughts. She had to admit that she was impressed. A part of her had hoped that seeing her former lover would instill a certain wariness, as it had during The Summer Ball. But the Empress seemed to have gotten herself under control. Was Celene the water or the fire? Was she declaring she was both? Was this a challenge? Did she think Briala rash for her choices in the Eluvian? But before she could speak on it, the Empress raised her hand. It glowed pale in the darkness, ethereal, and with a single flick, the servants made their way out of the dining hall. They stared at each other until the door shut behind them. Sensing that truly no one else was in the room, Briala finally spoke.

"If you intended to put out the fire, why seat me away from it?"

Celene sighed and Briala continued. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? My escort, the room, this," she gestured towards her seat.

"I knew you would."

"Then why bother with these little games?"

Celene straightened in her chair. In the dim light, Briala didn't stand a chance to make out the subtleties of the game on her face. But neither could Celene make out hers, and she was fortunate not to have to hide her glare. Then Celene reached up and gently slid the mask off of her face. With the reflections of the mask gone and the candle upon her, Celene's face was completely exposed. Briala noticed the bags under her eyes first. Her makeup hid the color perfectly, but the candles caught the shadows beneath them and illuminated her exhaustion. At the time of Briala's departure, Celene was barely sleeping. Now, after an attempted assassination and with a blight on their hands, she imagined Celene wasn't sleeping at all. While still beautiful, her exhaustion was taking a toll on her. Her cheeks sunk in just a little too much, and her mouth lay flat instead of slightly upturned like it used to. Briala tried not to let it get to her.

"Would it surprise you, Bria...la," she finished quickly, her eyes darting away for just a moment as she caught herself, "if I said that, for once, I'm not playing games?"

"It would not surprise me because I do not believe it."

Celene exhaled in agreement and toyed with the edge of her mask. It did not surprise her that Briala had kept hers on. She had lost the privilege of seeing her lover's unmasked face long ago. Besides, the mask could not keep Briala's beauty from the Empress. It was in the way she sat, the way her dress fell about her, the way she pronounced her ‘S’s, and the way she saw through Celene like no one could. But in this instance, she was wrong.

"I do not fault you for that. You have little reason to trust me. And yet I will try and prove it to you."

Briala scoffed. "You arrive bathed in fire, try to win sympathy by showing me you haven't slept, and then try to convince me you're not playing games?"

Celene had not anticipated Briala would notice her fatigue, had not anticipated the candles revealing more than makeup could hide. Slowly she brought a finger to her eyes and felt the bags beneath them. Then she picked up her mask and put it back on.

"In Orlais, not playing the Game is a part of the Game. How I loathe it."

"Don't be so quick to loathe that which has kept you in power, Majesty."

Celene's eyes snapped to hers. "Gaspard once made a claim that I ruled only with banquets and balls. I would have thought better of you than to make the same assumption."

Briala saw Celene's cheek tremble just slightly. It was something not even the most skilled Game player would have seen. Something only she knew about the Empress, something only she could see and something Celene could not control. It was a sign of sadness. She had only seen it a few times. Briala's barb had stuck harder than she imagined. She was not told of this conversation with Gaspard. But it could have happened after she had left Celene’s side. A great number of things could have and did happen after they separated. And yet everything still felt the same. The only difference was that this argument was taking place in a dining hall as opposed to the Empress’ bedchamber.

“I have wronged you terribly. I admit this. But I will not stand here and be accused of being a fainéant leader when everything that I have wronged you for was to better serve my empire.”

Briala liked when she got like this. This wasn’t Celene but the Empress speaking. Her voice could cut through the din of any drunken tavern and compel all to listen. It used to make her shiver when she heard it, because it was usually a command of lust, the Empress’ words pouring over her like an ice bath where her warm hands would follow. Today, however, it just made her reticent. Celene was not a bad ruler, overall. Orlais knew it, even if the bloodthirsty civilians found her boring before the civil war. Cailan had known it, Gaspard and Florianne had especially known it. It was beneath her to criticize Celene for her strengths as well as her faults.

“You know as well as I that this alliance is what’s best for our people,” Celene began again, her voice a touch softer. “However, nothing will come of it if we cannot trust each other. It will be Gaspard all over again.”

“You think me like Gaspard?”

“I think you distrustful of me. You said that only a moment ago, did you not?” Celene smiled as Briala fought to control her temper.

She was letting her emotions get the better of her. She and Celene had always bickered, but this was not her and Celene. This was the Empress of Orlais and the Marquise of the Dales and she needed to be better. Taking a deep breath, Briala leaned forward slightly.

“You truly wish to gain my trust?”

“Implicitly.”

“Tell me honestly why you chose this gown for our meeting,” she said, daring to reach out and poke the fabric of Celene’s sleeve. It was a mistake on her part, touching Celene again, but she kept her expression passive.

Celene looked down at her dress and ran a finger over the gold embroidering. Her hands were long and smooth from a sheltered life.

“You had once said that you liked this design,” she said, continuing to trace. “You said it reminded you of the ‘ _vallaslin_ ’ of the Dalish, whom you always admired, even though they weren’t quite what you imagined. I would have preferred green, for the Dales, but there wasn’t time to get one made.”

She had even pronounced the Dalish word perfectly, as if she had practiced it before coming into the room. It fell easily from her lips and Briala was all too quick to imagine the great number of elvish words she would come to know with this alliance. Her words seemed sincere, and that made it worse.

“So, you don’t recall then, that this dress is the same shade as the curtain I hid behind while you lied about my parents’ murder?”

Celene’s face fell and she looked down at the gown again. She remembered the color all too clearly now. Briala’s trembling form behind it, muttering her thought process of the events. Celene gripping her arms tightly, pleading with Andraste herself that Briala wouldn’t make the connection to her. She remembered the burning ache in her chest as she sent Briala away for what she thought was forever. Remembered the kiss they had shared. At the time Celene had thought that it would be the first and last kiss of real love, something Lady Mantillon had told her to abandon when seeking the throne. But while she was pining over lost love, Briala was mourning and seeking revenge for her parents. She had been such a fool as a girl, and apparently still as a woman.

It had been the only way at the time. Looking back now with twenty years of experience behind her, there were other choices she could have, should have made. But she didn’t know that at the time. That did not excuse her actions, however, and she dipped her head slightly in acknowledgment.

“I…did not think of that,” she admitted, her voice just above a whisper.

Briala nodded. “You don’t think of much unless it concerns humans.” She lifted her hand when Celene made to protest and continued. “It is something you have learned that you must unlearn. You must strive to see the elves as people and individuals. Only then will I believe that you’re doing what’s best for our people.”

“I understand.”

“I am Marquise Briala of the Dales,” she said, her voice growing more confident. “I expect to be treated with the respect I’ve earned. I’m here for my people…not for you,” she added, her voice dropping.

There was a moment of silence between them. Just long enough for Briala to start to regret her words. Celene, seemingly unruffled by Briala’s words, stood then and with the voice of the Empress, declared, “As you wish, Marquis Briala.”

It was formal, professional. Everything Briala was sure she wanted from the Empress. And yet it only made her heart ache even more. But she couldn’t take back her words, didn’t want to. Her people needed her, and her heart would have to wait.

“You know I still hate for this, don’t you?” Briala whispered finally.

“I know,” Celene whispered back, her eyes glowing in the candlelight. “But perchance do you still love me, too?”

Briala stood then, curtsied, and left the Empress alone at the table.


	2. Chapter 2

Tonight, The University of Orlais shadowed even the Royal Palace in splendor. Thousands of small candles had been interwoven in the lattice of the entryway, lighting up the golden pathway into the garden. The circle mages had been given permission to light the gilded massive domes of the university with a soft, green light, interlaced into a puzzling but pleasing design. The best bards in all of Orlais were in attendance, their music perfectly in sync with each other to keep the sound at adequate levels all throughout the gala. A table was filled with gluttonous amounts of food from Anderfels ham to Val Royeaux’s famous petit fours.

On Celene’s left was her handmaiden, Jenara, who had replaced Briala upon Celene’s return to Val Royeaux. She was dutiful, observant, and adequate enough at the Game to lend eyes and ears where Celene could not. She was not her spymaster, not even a confidant, but she was the closest ally Celene currently had at her disposal. To her right was Ser Adele Durant. Having recently finished her chevalier training, she was Celene’s third attempt at finding a replacement for Ser Michel. While the other two applicants had been as good as or better than Ser Michel in combat, there were other quirks of the character that Celene could not excuse. Not that she told the chevaliers any of that, of course. Being third on the list Ser Adele was not the best swordswoman the chevaliers had to offer, but Celene wasn’t looking for battle.

Ser Adele stood almost a head taller than the Empress, her violet mask matching beautifully with her dark skin. Gold lined her eyes and blended perfectly with the yellow feather of the chevaliers that extended from the mask. She exuded confidence with every step, something her noble family had instilled in her from an early age, no doubt. And though her eyes looked straight ahead, Celene could tell that she was assessing the room for any and all signs of trouble.

Given the betrayal of Ser Michel, and his questionable past which brought upon the betrayal, Celene had ensured that only chevaliers with ironclad pasts be submitted for her approval. Ser Adele shared the skin color of her father and the bright golden eyes of her mother. She had been seen at court all throughout her childhood and joined the chevaliers as soon as she was able. Being Orlesian, there was no doubt a scandal or several in her past somewhere. But most likely none that would waver her loyalty as Celene’s potential Champion.

Jenara shifted slightly in her peripheral, and without making it obvious, Celene turned her head to better observe. Jenara was attempting to stand tall and proud, but her eyes, while moving slowly, still moved around the room uncertainly. No doubt she felt uncomfortable in the fine mask and evening clothes she’d been bestowed, and it didn’t take a master of the Game to see that all eyes were upon her. Celene felt a small bubble of pride at the reactions of the Orlesians. Her people thrived on shock and craved it. And if she played her cards right, which she almost always did, a new trend among the Orlesian nobility would be born tonight.

Though guests at the gala could mingle in the garden, the true sight was inside. A new artist was on the rise, in stonework, of all things. Celene knew that Orlais thrived to be on top in all things, and a chance to be better than the very dwarves of Orzammar was a scandal in itself, and all who were able were in attendance to see the mysterious young man unmasked.

Jenara’s ear twitched just slightly as they passed by a group of gossiping, low ranking nobles, and Celene turned to smile politely at Ser Adele.

“Ser Adele, how fairs the gala?” she asked simply, giving a small wave of her hand.

“Well, your majesty. I foresee an enjoyable evening,” she responded easily.

Celene nodded, then spoke softly to Jenara, while keeping her face straight ahead. “You see, Jenara, there is nothing to fear.”

“I cannot breathe in this corset, your majesty,” Jenara responded, taking a shallow breath for emphasis.

Jenara was clever, and Celene understood that she was concerned about the weight of eyes upon her, not the corset. Celene fought back a smile. “My dear, I haven’t taken a deep breath in twenty years. Such are the sacrifices we must make for change.”

Jenara nodded, taking in the Empress’ words. Then she took a deep breath, her eyes focusing on the task in front of them. She was a clever girl. Perhaps in a few years, she could elevate herself to spymaster. Only time would tell.

As they reached the entryway into the room, a servant called out Celene’s entrance. The Empress watched as everyone in attendance bowed deeply, then made her way over to the many stone works on display. The carvings were exquisite, a skilled hand making the roughest stone look like gossamer, and Celene took her time studying them before moving on to the next, chatting idly with Jenara and Ser Adele about the craftsmanship. None had dared approach her. They were still watching, still calculating what the Empress could be doing with an elf at her side.

The work garnering the most attention was in the center of the room. A tall statue of the Empress herself, carved from pristine white marble. Most notable, however, was the infusion of lyrium in the statue. The statue’s eyes glistened a bright, glowing blue, and threads of lyrium wove themselves in and around her dress in a delicate pattern. Though portrayed in a gown, the statue had Celene raising her ceremonial scepter, pointing it straight ahead, eyes set and determined. The jewels of the scepter were also infused with lyrium and Celene fought to keep the awe from her expression.

“A most amazing work, wouldn’t you agree, your majesty?”

Celene recognized the voice as Lady Montsimmard. The civil war between Celene and Gaspard had not ended in the Montsimmard’s favor, but Duke Montsimmard, when faced with execution for treason against her Imperial Majesty, and surprisingly had a change of heart. Though Celene still did not trust them, Lady Montsimmard was infamous for her gossip, and just the person Celene had hoped to see.

“Such mastery of the stone. A remarkable feat indeed.”

“I understand you sponsored the young man? Art must be in his blood.”

Celene began to move around the statue to study it from other angles, Lady Montsimmard following dutifully. The woman was inquiring about the artist’s parentage, but it would take a great more skill than that to get the Empress to reveal anything before it was time.

“What do you think, Jenara?” Celene asked, turning her eyes towards her handmaiden.

“It is a wonder to behold, mistress,” Jenara said smoothly, daring her eyes to meet Lady Montsimmard’s. “However, even the greatest of hands cannot do your radiance justice.”

“You flatter me,” Celene allowed before turning her attention back to her guest. “Jenara is my handmaiden. Jenara, may I introduce Lady Montsimmard.”

Jenara bowed dutifully to the woman in front of her, and Celene watched as Montsimmard tried to recover from her shock. Her eyes moved from Celene to Jenara, unable to guess what Celene was up to. Giving in, she gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod of the head in Jenara’s direction. The eyes of the entire gala were upon them, and everyone had just seen Lady Montsimmard give recognition to a servant. The music was the same level that it had always been, but the voices had quieted, just slightly, as people began to murmur amongst themselves. Even the servants had slightly raised their dipped heads to witness just what was going on.

“You must be enjoying the sights…Jenara,” Lady Montsimmard offered, unable to keep the tension from her voice.

Celene recognized it as an attempt to get Jenara to reveal why she was here, and made her move. “A master is only as good as their lowest servant, don’t you think? I had a revelation the other morning. Orlais is as magnanimous a country as can be achieved. We excel in arts, culture, military, politics, and yet we resort to assaulting our servants in the streets, in the public eye of all places. Such a lack of refinement is not indicative of this advanced country, is it, Lady Montsimmard?”

Celene’s eyes fixated on Lady Montsimmard. The woman literally owed Celene her life. If she was sincere about her loyalty to the Empress, she would show it here. It was a gamble Celene was willing to make.

“No, your majesty, it is not.”

“It was a great act of benevolence to let the dog lords have their country,” she continued, her voice just slightly louder, “and Ferelden has repaid us by being a valuable trading partner and military ally. And the best part, Lady Montsimmard, is that they believe it was their doing. Our empire need not be defined by our borders, but by our influence. Wouldn’t you say, Ser Adele?”

“A single drop in the pond creates a wave, your majesty,” she agreed, flashing Lady Montsimmard a dashing smile.

Lady Montsimmard returned the smile more comfortably, then after a quick glance at the crowd, she said, just slightly louder than necessary, “I plan on taking my handmaiden to the theater at the end of the month. And, of course, new clothes are required for all the servants. Green is this season’s color.”

Celene smiled, well aware of the emerald gown she was in. “Perhaps I will see you there,” she implied, extending an olive branch of sorts to the wracked woman. “It was a pleasure seeing you, Lady Montsimmard, please excuse me.”

Celene then made her way into the crowd, where she, and Jenara were greeted. Though the pleasantries towards Jenara were strained at best, it was a start. A few more nobles had even mentioned bringing their servants to an occasion or buying new things for them. Jenara’s mood improved significantly and for the rest of the evening, Celene never saw her ears twitch again. Ser Adele also seemed to be enjoying Jenara’s new status, which was more than she could say for her previous chevaliers. Perhaps this evening would be more prosperous than she imagined.

Feeling the slight onset of a headache, Celene excused herself and made her way to the dessert table. She picked up a chocolate petit four, small enough to be a polite bite, and brought it to her lips.

“It’s not chocolate,” Briala’s voice sounded from behind her.

Celene paused and sniffed at the confection. Deep mushroom. Mercifully, she was able to hide her disgust as she placed the petit four back on the table. She was also able to her hide her surprise at Briala being at the gala. Her spies had been all but certain that she wasn’t going to attend. Then again, Briala was the best spy of them all. It was a flounder on Celene’s part, and she kept her eyes on the desserts to hide her face from Briala.

They hadn’t spoken since the ill-fated dinner. In fact, they were due to meet officially again tomorrow. Celene was big enough to admit that she had been foolish to assume so much of her ex-lover. Briala had always been fiery, tenacious, it was one of the many things she loved about her. And Celene had not done her credit by assuming that all past wrongdoings would be forgotten. Ser Adele stood a few feet away in Celene’s peripheral, watching but not eavesdropping, and Jenara had gone to prepare the Empress’ reveal of the artist. They were alone, as much as was possible.

“I should ban that horrific ‘delicacy,’” she said, hoping to keep the conversation light. “It’s worse than that rotten ham of despair.”

Briala chuckled. “Who would have thought your quote of disdain would increase its popularity.”

She reached down onto the tray and picked up another brown petit four. She brought it to her nose, nipped off a corner, then held it to the Empress. It was quite a bold move, even for Briala, and Celene glanced around once more for any signs of the Game at play, ignoring her urge to comfortingly trace the chain of her necklace, a new but disappointing habit she had come across.

“It’s bitter, but it’ll ease your headache,” Briala offered again, noticing the Empress’ hesitance.

Celene took the petit four and looked at it for a moment before popping it into her mouth. She detested chocolate. But when tea was not available, it was a necessary evil. To avoid the embarrassment of getting food on her teeth, she crushed it with her tongue and swallowed it, suppressing the urge to wince at the taste. It took a few moments, but the headache yielded just slightly and she turned to face her guest.

“I heard your little chat with Lady Montsimmard,” Briala began, still eyeing the treats. “You realize that the Empress’ words cannot travel behind closed doors, don’t you?”

“I must start somewhere. And what the nobility deems a trend will trickle down to the lower classes, as has always been the case.” Celene looked out to the garden, noting that for the moment it was empty of people. “Will you walk with me, Marquise?”

Briala stood obediently to the side and allowed the Empress to pass through the doors first, matching her stride when they were outside. Ser Adele followed, and though Briala must have missed the cue, the chevalier closed the doors behind them and followed a few paces behind for privacy.

“I found my meal rather cold last night,” Celene said lightly, as if she was talking about the weather.

“I thought you weren’t going to play games with me,” Briala pointed out, kicking a small twig out of her path.

Celene allowed herself to sigh, sitting elegantly on a stone bench. A fountain was nearby, a tribute to the chevaliers, and water flowed from the fringe on their helmets, muffling their conversation from anyone who might be nearby.

“There is no pleasing you. If you wish to be treated like just another noble you must endure the Game. So tell me, Briala, what do you want?” Celene asked, turning her head towards the elf.

It was a loaded question, and Briala had too many answers. She wanted an explanation, an apology. She wanted a conversation without fear of betrayal or the Game. She wanted to take Celene into her arms right at this moment without fear of punishment. None of those things seemed possible. Perhaps they never would be.

“What do you want, Celene?” she asked finally.

Celene’s mask was all white pearl this evening, and the moon shone against it, highlighting the Empress’ blue eyes. Celene thought for a moment, then gave a shy smile, turning to look at the fountain.

“What I want doesn’t matter. It never has.”

“You think yourself the victim?” Briala asked, surprised at the lack of venom in her words.

“I think myself the Empress. I think of the Game I played tonight and wonder if it will see me killed by morning. Or if Jenara will survive her walk home. I think of the people revolting when I reveal the artist tonight.” She paused and gave a sad laugh, refusing to meet Briala’s face. “But most absurdly, I think of the look of disappointment I will see on your face when I turn to look at you. And I will be reminded again of how I was not enough for you, not enough for the elves. And that will pain me more than a thousand deaths ever could.”

Briala looked cautiously back at the chevalier. She was a good distance away, pacing as she studied the walls of the garden for any exploits. Gently, she reached up and placed a hand on the Empress’ chin, turning it to face her. Celene allowed herself to be moved and met Briala’s eyes. She did not see disappointment in them, but perhaps the sadness she saw was worse.

“You did a remarkable thing tonight,” Briala whispered at their closeness. “But there is still more to be done. That’s all.”

“There is always more to be done.”

Celene’s breath was warm on Briala’s lips, and the elf dipped her head lightly to dispel the temptation. Even with revolution tickling at the back of her neck, to kiss the Empress in open air was far too big a risk for the both of them. Briala traced her fingers along the curve of Celene’s jaw, taking with her some of the painted makeup. She then turned the Empress’ head and began to fix it, like she had so many times before. When she finished, she finally took her hand from Celene’s face, torn between attempting to smile or offer some consoling words. What could she say? Would anything she said make things right between them? No, there was still too much between them, and too many eyes and ears in this garden. She could only hope that Celene was willing to wait just a bit longer.

As if she’d read her thoughts, the Empress smiled suddenly. “Thank you,” she murmured just loud enough for Briala to pick up.

“For what?”

“For answering my question from last night. Now, let us go introduce the artist.”

Celene stood then, smoothing her gown, and made her way back inside. There was a new confidence to her gait, and a sway to her shoulders that Briala recognized immediately. Hope.

The impressive new statue of Empress Celene stood below the apex of two meeting stairways where Celene would give her speech. Briala quickly joined the crowd who watched as the Empress ascended the steps with graceful ease, her chevalier one step behind. The room grew hushed and the bards finished their songs as Celene stood at the center of the stairs, her statue just beneath her.

“Mesdames and Messieurs,” she began in that commanding tone. “I welcome you tonight to the University of Orlais’ gala, where we celebrate mastery over the art of stonework.”

Applause riddled the room, along with murmured praise of the art.

“Our sculptor tonight is a native of Orlais, from the city of Jader. He began sculpting at just four years old with the mud in the streets, and has risen to the level of greatness you see before you. Using unfathomable discipline and courage, he has mastered the skill of lyrium handling, bending it to the beauty lined within his sculptures.”

Celene paused for dramatic effect, her face falling just slightly. Like the puppets on her string, the rest of the crowd began to grow forlorn for reasons yet unknown.

“The handling of lyrium came with a price, however. Due to the ravenous, impulsive behavior of raw lyrium, our artist has tragically lost his left arm.”

Gasps and murmurs of sorrow filled the room. A few of the nobles shook their heads at such a disgrace. Celene nodded with them, sharing in their sympathy, before her face broke into another grand smile.

“However, this loss has not severed his courage or talent. For the very statue I stand above was carved and shaped by this one hand.”

Applause broke out again and even Briala had to clap along. Sculpting hard marble and raw lyrium with one hand seemed an impossible task.

“I know I speak for everyone when I say that this man is a true representation of the greatness of Orlais and the momentous things we can achieve.”

The clapping had grown stronger, patriotism and a touching story pulling so easily at the nobles’ hearts.

“Please join me in welcoming a true master of the stone, Aeian Sulemahd. His statue will grace the front entrance to the palace for many ages to come. ”

The clapping slowed at the name, but thankfully did not die out as Briala watched Empress Celene welcome an elven man to stand beside her. His left arm was missing below the elbow and scars littered the left side of his face, but she could see his smile even from down below and began to clap harder. The nobles continued to whisper amongst one another, but pride and etiquette kept them from stopping their applause. Briala watched as Celene accepted the bow from Aeian and then extended her hand, shaking his politely. Tears pressed at the back of her eyes but she forced them down. Now was not the time to celebrate, but at least for now, she could revel in this tiny moment. Tomorrow, in her meeting with Celene, the real work could begin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments! I really appreciate them and hope you continue to enjoy this.

Celene sat perfectly still as Jenara applied her makeup for the day, gently stirring the brush in the decadent silver bowl. This part of the morning was relaxing for the Empress. The sun was warm through the tall stained windows of her bedchamber and the room was quiet, intimate with just her and Jenara. The paint was cool on her cheeks and the brush was smooth and soft. She closed her eyes momentarily as Jenara swept the makeup over the tops of her cheekbones. Finished with the brush, the elf set the bowl down and dipped her finger in it, running it under Celene’s eyes. Jenara’s smooth fingers mixed with the cool paint was also helping her to ignore this morning’s throbbing headache.

“How fared the market this morning?” Celene asked quietly at Jenara’s closeness.

The elf dabbed gently at the bags under her eyes. No doubt they required extra effort. Celene opened her eyes and stared anywhere but at Jenara. Servants weren’t supposed to look their employers in the eye, and though Celene was working to change that, it was clear that Jenara was still uncomfortable with it.

“The gala was the gossip. They enjoyed Lady Montsimmard’s embarrassment and the statue’s artist is…a matter of some debate.”

Celene gave an unimpressed sigh. She couldn’t take a breath without someone deciding her posture could have been better or her exhale longer. She anticipated that the gala would be received in varying degrees of admiration and hate and waited for Jenara to continue. The elf finished with the white paint and wiped her hands on a towel before picking up another brush and a new bowl. This bowl was filled with a dark red paint and she delicately dipped the tip in, slightly lifting the Empress’ head up to outline her lips.

“Some applaud your gumption. Others see it as weakness. Lowering Orlais to the status of elves.”

Jenara’s voice dropped slightly on the last sentence and though her face remained impartial, it didn’t take an expert to see that the thought hurt her. Celene looked over at her and their eyes met for the briefest of moments before Jenara looked away.

“You looked quite splendid in that gown last night,” the Empress offered, watching as the elf momentarily threw her eyes downward. “In fact, I want you to place an order for a new gown for me, in the same color.”

“Her Majesty looks radiant in any color.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jenara,” Celene said with a small smile. “We both know I look ghastly in white.”

Jenara said nothing but the corner of her mouth twitched just slightly. It was enough for now.

“They also seemed displeased at the mentioning of Ferelden being our allies,” Jenara continued, puffing her lips out slightly for Celene to mimic.

Celene rolled her eyes and waited for Jenara to finish with the paint before speaking. The paint was still drying and sticky on her lips and she fought the urge to wet them with her tongue. “You’d think after 20 years they would believe that Ferelden was well and truly independent.”

“They feel you made light of the war. That the thousands who died for Ferelden’s independence were all a part of your plan for a cultured Orlais.”

“I don’t suppose it occurred to them that the war was over when I assumed the throne? Maker, I merely negotiated peace.”

“Technicalities matter not to adversaries.”

“Well said.”

“Though, the ‘dog lords’ comment seemed a nice touch. Softened the blow.”

Celene stood and stretched her back one final time, keeping her hand upon her dress to keep it from falling. Jenara placed the makeup back on the bureau before heading behind Celene to begin the arduous task of binding the corset. Celene took a deep breath, tightening her stomach to bring it in as the corset began to coil around her.

“Ser Adele escorted you home last night, correct?”

Celene knew full well that Ser Adele had escorted Jenara home, because she had commanded it. If the chevalier had any objections to the command she made no showing of. This was possibly the final test for Adele’s candidacy as her champion. Jenara pulled tightly, and Celene lost the breath she had been holding.

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Any concerns?”

“She was professional, polite, protective, everything you’d expect from a chevalier.”

There was an underlying bitterness to her tone that was not lost on Celene. After all, Jenara had been escorted home by the two previous candidates as well, who did not receive such glowing reviews. They had not harmed her, thankfully, but Celene trusted Jenara’s judgment on their true intent. The chevaliers were outwardly noted for their honor and fighting skills, but everyone knew that they could be crueler than the most heinous darkspawn when tempted. Though Celene had made attempts to limit public assaults of anyone, especially elves, chevaliers tended to turn a deaf ear and blind eye. She tacked that insolence onto her ever growing list of things that needed her attention and sighed with relief as Jenara gave one final tug, tying the corset into place.

“I believe she would make a good replacement as my champion,” Celene offered.

A direct question of approval was too much at this time, but the softness at which Jenara buttoned the back of her dress implied that the elf was satisfied with her words. Celene could not afford another Michel, could not afford another wavering loyalty. And if Ser Adele was as sympathetic to the elves as she appeared to be, it would make both of their jobs all the easier.

“Is there anything else you require, your majesty?” Jenara asked, stepping back from the Empress and dipping her head low.

“Find Marquise Briala and have her meet me in the study on the left wing for our negotiations.”

Jenara curtsied and left the room swiftly. For the first time, Celene turned to look into the mirror. She had yet to apply her mask, and looked utterly bizarre with her white painted face and red lips. She looked to the bureau, where her mask for the day lay. It was golden yellow with bright blue feathers to match her dress. She’d chosen the color specifically to reflect last night’s gala, which she had considered to be a success on all accounts, from the artist, to Lady Montsimmard, to Briala. The blue of the dress was the same color as the lyrium in the statues, which was all anyone could talk about, even more so than the artist’s pointed ears and stringy frame.

Briala would most certainly have laughed at her this morning as she stood in front of her wardrobe, analyzing every stitch of clothing for anything that might have caused offense. Then she moved on to her hairpin, finally deciding on a rather plain looking piece that happened to hail from the Dales. Her necklace was the same as it had been, matching with every dress, and it dipped into her bosom as usual, only the chain revealed. Celene reached out and stroked it softly, steeling herself.

Briala still loved her. That much had been certain last night. But there were endless trials and tribulations before the finish line, whatever it may be. Celene’s head pulsated in pain at the thought and she brought her hand to her temple, almost rubbing it before she remembered her makeup. Dropping her hand, she took a deep breath, forced the pain to the back of her thoughts, and made her way down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

“You’re certain that she did not believe me to be coming?” Briala asked as she straightened her mask. It was the same veridium one she had arrived with. And though many considered it a faux pas to wear the same mask twice in a row, she didn’t care. In fact, apathy towards the fashion necessities of Val Royeaux was indeed her intent.

There still had to be an element of symbolism, however. It was how players of the game read each other, how they interacted, made deals, negotiated. In order to be her best with Celene today, she had to drive her point home. Her dress was homemade, purchased from one of the elven merchants in the market and her hair was done up in green ribbons for the Dales, which she represented. The only thing not elven in origin, was the crest of the empress pin on her chest. The purple and gold clashed with her green outfit, but such things were beyond her control.

“If she knew, she made no mention of it, my lady.”

Briala fought back a smile at her spy’s words. She had intended to surprise Celene at the gala last night, and for the first time since her visit, she seemed to finally have a success. Plus, if the Empress had not expected her, that meant that the unveiling of the elven artist, plus the attempted elevating of servants, had been Celene’s plan all along, and not an attempt to get on Briala’s good side. Perhaps the Empress could keep promises as well as secrets.

Briala shook her head bitterly. She tried to clear the toxic thoughts from her mind. The ones that bore no fruit, no reconciliation, but it was proving difficult. Growing up with the Game, where every move, every word could mean death, she had gotten used to paranoia. She used to welcome it. It made her feel as if she playing well. After all, complacency was the leading cause of death in the Game. But after spending time away from Val Royeaux, away from nobles, she began to learn just how sick she’d really become.

Even the kindest gesture was taken as a threat, and it took weeks for her overcome her incessant notion that every word spoken held another meaning. The elves had been patient with her, mercifully, and just as she was getting used to the normalcy, Empress Celene had called her back. Back to the threats, the fears, the paranoia. Back to that place she so loathed, but where she felt most comfortable. It was a jarring acclimation.

“There is…one more thing, my lady,” the spy offered nervously.

Briala raised an eyebrow at his tone and turned to face him, waiting for him to continue. He met her eyes for just a moment before dipping his eyes to the floor again.

“My sources say they saw a lone Dalish mage near the Imperial Highway, heading west from Ferelden.”

Felassan. Briala did not let the surprise grace her features. She had sent out a few inquiries on him when her spy network had grown large enough. It was largely out of curiosity, testing the efficiency of her spies. She had never expected them to actually find him. She couldn’t even find him unless he wished to be found. And now he was heading towards Orlais. Slowly, Briala put her hand to her pocket, feeling the ruby that controlled her Eluvians. She had grown used to the feel of it against her thigh, but the reassurance of it comforted her slightly. Felassan was the reason behind her success, her mentor, her friend. And he had been missing for months.

“And?” she prompted.

“He appeared to be heading towards Orlais. But he must have known he was being watched, for we lost him as soon as he reached the Frostbacks.”

That sounded like Felassan. But it was best not to dwell on it. If it truly was him, and he truly was coming to see her again, he would make first contact. There were more pressing matters to attend to. Briala nodded her head, dismissing the spy with a final word to keep an eye out for any more signs of him. As he left, another elf came through the doorway. Jenara. Celene’s new handmaiden. She curtsied to Briala, who bowed her head in return.

“Her Imperial Majesty requests your presence in the study,” Jenara said. Her voice was calm, confident, nothing like the small form that practically cowered beneath her.

Briala had watched her at the Gala. Watched how a single word from Celene could perk her head up, square her shoulders, even dare her to meet the eyes of Lady Montsimmard. Celene always did have a way of instilling confidence. Briala fought down another pang of sadness and, grabbing some documents she had been working on, allowed Jenara to lead her out of the room and towards the study.

As was customary, Briala arrived before Celene. She passed the time by sorting through her documents, making sure the most pertinent ones were on top. Then she revised her speeches in her head. Finishing that, she finally made her way to the window, where she watched the lively city scurry around beneath her. The sun was warm against her face, comforting, and she rested against the window as she looked down. It looked so much simpler from up this high, and she allowed her mind to wander.

Celene entered the room, prepared to be faced with a curtsying Briala, only to find the desk empty, as was the chaise. Frowning, Celene scanned the room, her face softening as her eyes fell upon the elf, lost in her thoughts as she stared out the window. Seeing no other servants in the room, Celene waved Jenara away with a nod and stepped inside, closing the door quietly. Briala still hadn’t noticed her, and Celene took the few precious moments to study her former lover. Her eyes shimmered in the light of the sun and her dark skin looked warm and inviting, the dress moving easily around her frame. Celene had seen Briala at her worst, at her dirtiest, and she still had to fight to keep her desires in check. Now, with Briala clearly clean and healthy, it was almost too much to bear. A few mere months ago, she would have wasted no time in pressing the elf against the window, letting the ants below ponder at just who could be cavorting in the royal palace. It would have excited them both. No real fear of getting caught, but just enough temptation to make it all the more delicious.

Celene smiled to herself, then made her way forward. When she was halfway to Briala, the elf’s eyes snapped up. Celene watched as Briala scanned her outfit, from her hairpin to her heels. For a moment, she thought she saw the hint of desire in those eyes, before Briala closed them to curtsy. She reached the window as Briala was rising, and leaned opposite Briala, glancing downward. The sunlight seared at her headache, but the warmth was comforting, and she sighed pleasantly before meeting Briala’s eyes again.

“Marquise,” she greeted politely.

“Your majesty.”

Briala was guarded, perhaps a bit nervous. Celene felt the same, whether she showed it or not. Best to keep it on the surface for now. Celene turned her head and inclined her head to the stack of parchment on the desk. “I see you’ve brought some reading.”

Leaning herself off of the window, Briala made her way over to the desk. “Yes, there are several matters I wish to discuss, concerning both the Dales and the alienage.”

Her confidence had returned and Celene fought back her smile as she made her way over to the table, prepared to engage in yet more talks.

The talks lasted for hours. The warm morning sun had long since disappeared over the horizon, and the room was dark save for the fire and miscellaneous glowing candles, nearing the ends of their wicks. Celene had cleared her entire schedule for the day to have these talks with Briala, but even she was starting to grow weary. They had been at it for hours, back and forth and back and forth. The Game weighed so heavily on her shoulders she couldn’t be certain what was real anymore. Her face ached from the back and her back was starting to give under the crushing strength of her corset. Not to mention, she’d had several cups of tea to try and quell her raging headache, but so far all they had left her with was a desire to use the bathroom. Feeling ill, she glanced down at the small tray of delicacies that had been brought up, since both women refused to stop for meals.

Petits fours, cakes, pastries, all sugar and sweets. Her teeth ached just from looking at them and her eyes burned from the dim light. She was not used to competing with such a fierce player of the Game. Celene was largely regarded as the best, and could quell the fiercest adversary with just a look. But Briala had learned from the best, and she was unused to dealing with such tenacity as well as skills in the Game. Though, as she glanced up at the elf, the way her shoulders sagged and her eyes seemed hazy behind her mask, she took small satisfaction in the fact that she seemed to give as good a fight as she got.

“You realize it’s about more than just the money, don’t you?” Briala said, breaking the momentary, peaceful silence.

“And you realize that it is simply not that easy.”

Briala’s brow furrowed. Their respective composures had gradually fallen over the course of the day, both women unused to having no time for themselves to recompose. “Halamshiral has yet to recover from the fire, your majesty.”

Though she tried to keep the bite out of her voice, Briala couldn’t help the small twinge of sarcasm that came with the Empress’ title. Celene fought to keep her face neutral, but it had since grown numb with the weight of the mask, and she could be sure of nothing anymore. Briala had probably saved this topic for late in the evening with the hopes that she would be too tired to debate much on it. But that had not worked in her favor. In fact, her rising temper only helped her clarity on the matter, and she stood, making her way to the window again.

“Yes, they suffered greatly during our little civil war. Reparations are being made when they can.”

“To the city, not the alienage.”

“You know I do not oversee such trivial matters,” Celene answered. With her back turned, she closed her eyes, realizing all too late she had said the wrong thing.

Celene could have practically counted down the time it would take for Briala to arrive next to her, eyes sharp again and mouth set in fury. She opened her eyes when she felt the elf arrive at her side and waited for whatever she had to offer. They should have stopped this hours ago. They were past the point of being diplomatic and tempers were bound to release emotions that had been bound for far too long. But there was nothing she could now, so she fixed her eyes on Briala and waited.

“The burning of Halamshiral is a trivial matter to you?” Briala asked finally, eyes blazing.

“No, Briala,” Celene answered, expecting the question. “Overseeing the funds of every city in my empire is a trivial matter.”

“I would have thought you would have made an exception for this one.”

Celene sighed. “You know I cannot do what you ask. To give funds for the sole purpose of rebuilding the alienage is to admit regret at my actions.”

Briala gave an incredulous smile, bringing her hand up underneath her mask to rub at her eyes. Her brain was muddled and her eyes refused to focus. “Do you truly have no remorse for anything? And have I been so blind to it all these years?”

Celene gave a short, sad laugh. “Yes, Briala. I am an utterly heartless beast. Whatever makes this easier for you.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Briala snapped.

“What questions!” Celene snapped back, leaving the window to pace. “Do I have remorse? Of course I have remorse. Every choice I make in this blood soaked world comes with remorse. Do you not remember the nights I agonized over every document, every trade deal, every negotiation? Do you think I have sat here for an entire day, listening to you tell me what a horrible human I am because I am enjoying myself?”

She stopped pacing, her eyes falling on Briala as her head tilted to the side just slightly. “And what does remorse get you, Briala? Does it get you Halamshiral back? Does it get your people out of the slums? What does my remorse get for anyone besides a fleeting sense of satisfaction? Might as well have one of these for the same effect.” She threw her hand out to the pastries before turning her back on the elf. “The truth is that no one cares about how I feel,” she murmured. “The elves don’t care, the nobles, the commoners, they just want what they want, and they want it now. I’m just the figurehead. A pretty face to blame or praise depending on the day. So what purpose would it bring to have me face every one of my mistakes?” Celene gave another bitter laugh. “There is not enough time in this accursed world.”

Briala swallowed, letting the cool chill of the Empress’ words run down her spine. Celene’s voice had wavered during her tirade, her eyes moving around the room as she tried to control her temper. But mostly, the little twitch in her cheek, the one that Briala hated knowing about, hated seeing, had been ever present.

“I…care,” she said finally, watching as Celene turned her head at her voice. “I care. And, maybe foolishly, I thought that I would be enough to bear witness for your remorse. At least once.” Tears pressed at the back of Briala’s eyes and she clenched her jaw to keep them from falling. “To know that we…that I meant enough to you for…” she drifted, feeling that the tears would fall should she continued.

The fire blazed near Celene’s left, and Briala kept her eyes on it, determined to ignore the Empress as she turned and made her way over. She was too exhausted for these games, too tired to control herself. In front of her greatest threat, her greatest love, she was weak. Celene was in front of her, blocking the fire. It reminded Briala of when she had blocked the sight of her parents from view after they were murdered. Had that been courtesy on her part so many years ago? Or an attempt to hide the crime she committed? She was too tired to wonder.

Celene placed a hand on her shoulder. The hand that used to steady her, keep her upright and proud. The hand that used to make her tremble and held her in the night. The hand that waved and killed thousands. The hand that had protected her so many times. She couldn’t shake it off. Didn’t know if she even wanted to. Another hand went to her chin, tilted it up ever so gently, ghosting along her skin.

She had removed her mask. Her face was pale, her makeup dry and caked from being on for so long. Her eyes were red but piercing and Briala held their gaze even as those hands left her body.

“My remorse for the things I have done to you, Bria,” Celene dared, her voice just above a whisper, “cannot be expressed in words, actions. It can only be expressed by inaction.”

Briala frowned, confused, and Celene gave another sad smile. Against the deep red lipstick, her teeth looked off-white, stained from all of the tea.

“The entryway behind the mirror is still open,” she said finally, eyes looking past Briala until they fell to the floor. “It always has been. You are the only one who knows about it. I should have barricaded it, or at the very least, set traps.” She lifted her eyes again to Briala’s. “But I could not justify protecting myself from you. I do not deserve to be free from your punishment. So I have left it open, all of these months, sleeping in that room with the knowledge that each night could be my last. That, my love, is my remorse. Expressed in the only way I know how.”

Briala’s lips had parted at the revelation, and they were so close. Celene was not thinking properly. She knew this. And yet she didn’t fight it as her head came forward, and smiled as she saw Briala’s eyes close at just the last moment.

Their foreheads touched. It was all Celene could allow herself to do. She pressed her head against the cool metal of Briala’s mask. So close and yet still not touching. She supposed she deserved nothing less, certainly nothing more. She allowed her eyes to close for just a moment, reveling in the feeling of Briala so close to her, not pulling away. Then, knowing she had already taken too much, she pulled back. She tried her best to give a polite smile, then reached for her mask, putting it back on as she made for the door.

“Goodnight, Marquise. We will continue this at a later date, if you wish,” she said just before closing the door.

Briala did not follow her out, though Celene listened all the way down the hall. The palace still had servants milling about, albeit much fewer than normal, and she was thankful not to have to keep up the charade all the way to her chambers. The two guards at her door bowed as she entered her bedchamber, closing the door behind her. For a moment, she looked to the summoning bell on her bureau, and considered the relief she would feel at getting out of her corset. But too many things had been disturbed tonight. So the Empress let down her own hair and brushed it, washed the makeup from her face, and undid her corset, leaving the dress draped against a chair as she slipped on a nightgown and climbed into bed.

Assuming she slept at all, she would wake in just a few hours. Celene forced herself into bed, rubbing at the indentations the corset had left on her skin. It burned at the touch, having been on for far too long, but she welcomed the pain. Anything to stifle her thoughts on what she’d just done. For what seemed like a moment, she closed her eyes to revel in the relief of her self-administered massage. When she opened her eyes again, there was a hand at her throat.

Though it was dark in her room, Celene could not mistake those liquid eyes. Neither could she have assumed it was anyone else. Only Briala could slip in unnoticed, and only Briala’s hand on her throat could make her both exultant and resigned at the same time. The elf’s hand was shaking against her neck, the pressure was enough to be noticed, nothing more, and Celene dared not move. Briala had removed her mask, and for the first time since the Eluvians, Celene saw her face. She saw the withered, familiar gaunt look of someone made to lead. She saw the freckles that lined her nose and cheeks, the ones she used to kiss one by one despite a laughing protest. She saw those deep, deep eyes that saw more in her than Celene could ever see in herself. She saw Briala, proud and strong, yet so afraid. She hadn’t changed at all. Neither of them had.

“Damn you, Celene,” Briala whispered into the darkness, her voice cracking with effort.

Celene nodded. “Whatever your wish, I deserve it,” she whispered back, fighting all of her survival instincts to keep her hands fisted at her side.

Briala’s hand moved then. It slid up Celene’s neck, traced her earlobe, and cradled her cheek. Though her hand was shaking, the movement was slow, deliberate, and unbelievably gentle. It sent a familiar tingle down Celene’s neck and thighs, and she fought the tears that welled in the corner of her eyes. Briala moved forward, and their foreheads touched again, this time not barred by the mask. Celene closed her eyes at the touch and risked bringing a hand up to grasp softly at Briala’s wrist, keeping her hand there, keeping it steady. Briala shifted slightly, her nose grazing the Empress’ and Celene felt the brow against hers knit in consternation.

“Damn you,” Briala whispered again, her lips brushing against the Empress’ as she spoke, before she lifted her head and her hand.

Celene didn’t even have time to mourn her absence before she was gone. The warmth of her presence left the room and Celene shivered, pulling the blankets tighter around her. Briala lingered on her skin, and Celene brought a hand to her cheek, feeling Briala slide away with her touch. Knowing that she would be alone for the rest of the short night, Celene closed her eyes, allowing the tears to fall and stain her pillow.


	4. Chapter 4

“My lady, have I done something to offend?”

Jenara’s ears twitched at the question, and her cheeks flared at the obvious tell. Ser Adele would most certainly have noticed it. Deciding to buy herself some time, Jenara crossed the street of the market. One of Celene’s requests was that Jenara be present at the market often, buying under the Empress’ name from elven merchants. Celene had always purchased from the elven merchants, as they tended to add unconventional and foreign ingredients to their teas. But since the Summer Ball, Celene wanted Jenara to make more of a showing of it. Her mask was a cheap version of Ser Adele’s, purple cloth with golden paint instead of velvet and gold, but both symbolized the Valmont family. And she made sure to announce the Empress’ name just a bit more in her bartering when other nobles or their servants were near. Ser Adele, now officially Celene’s chosen Champion, had been assigned to accompany her on these weekly trips.

“No, my lady,” she said simply as Adele joined her on the walkway.

“Perhaps there is another reason you wish to stay four paces away from me.”

Jenara dipped her head instinctively, making her way over to the elven tea vendor. The market that catered to the nobles had far more human vendors than elven, but it was more than there had ever been. And if Celene could continue to sway minds even more would soon come.

“I have no title, Ser Adele. ‘My lady’ is inappropriate,” Jenara said quietly, giving a polite smile to the vendor before examining the flavors.

Adele remained quiet throughout the transaction, watching the lively marketplace. Servants and nobles alike scurried about, though the nobles tended to frequent the boutiques while the servants tended to more blasé matters. A few of them gave a polite nod towards the chevalier, indicating their loyalty towards Empress Celene, which she returned. The servants dared not lift their heads, darting in and around nobles who truly did not seem to see them. With her tea purchased, Jenara thanked the vendor with a polite bow and took off down the street towards the palace.

Despite her accelerated pace Adele caught up with her quickly. “I apologize,” she said, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “I was trying to be courteous. But you are a lady, are you not?”

Jenara could see the chevalier’s impish smile in her periphery and she clutched her purchases tighter to her chest. She had seen Ser Michel, Empress Celene’s previous champion, only a few times before he was released from her service. He was a tall and proud man and though his eyes seemed kind, they darkened to a steely hatred when laid upon an elf. She wondered how he would have behaved had Celene asked him to escort her handmaiden to the market. “I am an elf.”

“And I am a chevalier. Celene’s Champion, hand selected to protect her,” Adele’s eyes drifted downward, “and you.”

Jenara’s ear twitched again, her blush creeping just below the line of her mask. She fidgeted with the bag in her hands, not afraid, but self-conscious perhaps. Adele placed her hand on her sword. It often gave her confidence.

“If it displeases you because you do not like it, I will stop. But if it displeases you because you think it should…well, then you’ll have to get used to disappointment, my lady.”

Jenara turned abruptly down a deserted alley and Adele had to backtrack to follow. The elf stepped in a few paces and looked around before she finally met the chevalier’s eyes for just a moment. Jenara’s eyes were as large and dark as Lake Celestine and Adele gripped tighter to her sword. The elf opened her mouth to speak, then fumbled, dipping her head to mess with the packaging of her purchases.

“Others would see your kindness as a threat,” she murmured, her voice wavering.

“I am not afraid of others.”

“…I am.”

Adele paused, then turned her head to look back down towards the street. As a chevalier, she was ever observant. Observant of behaviors, moves, motives, anything that would compromise her charge. Yet she had not considered what would happen after she had gone. Celene had guards on her at all times. Jenara occasionally had a chevalier.

“Have I put you in danger with my ignorance?” she asked finally, hands falling to her side.

Jenara kept her head down but shrugged. “Being her majesty’s handmaiden comes with enemies. Being escorted by her champion may bring more.”

“Shall I hint to the Empress that these escorts are unwise?”

“They are not as unwise as what going alone would entail.”

Adele sighed. Jenara was as skittish as a fawn, smaller than even the visiting Marquise. And her twitching ear was a dangerous tell in the Game. But underneath that, buried deep down and afraid to come out, was a willful, clever woman. Adele suspected that Celene could see the same and that was why she had chosen her as her handmaiden. What she would do with Jenara once the elf was no longer afraid was unknown, but it would certainly be a pleasure to watch.

“Then perhaps I shall save my courtesy for when we are in private…my lady.”

Jenara pursed her lips to stop the shy smile from escaping and Adele pretended not to notice, instead gesturing towards the street for them to continue their journey. Loosening her iron grip on her packages, Jenara dipped her head slightly to Adele as she passed, the chevalier following close behind.

 

* * *

 

Briala must have strode the length of the guests’ quarters ten times now. Though her visit to Val Royeaux was by request of the Empress, there was no way that Celene could be available at all times. In fact, it had been a week since their last meeting. Their last wreck of a meeting. Briala wrung her hands together to shake the feeling of Celene’s neck beneath them. She had been so furious that night. Not just about Halamshiral but about Celene’s utter lack of regard for her own safety. Briala was no fool. Celene was the only choice for the elves. Despite her warring feelings on the Empress, she would never stoop to murder. Couldn’t. The fact that Celene thought she would hurt the most.

Briala had decided not to venture into the hidden passageway upon her arrival in Val Royeaux. She had been certain that Celene would have had it blocked off somehow. Her ‘inaction’ as she’d called it, could have been a fatal mistake. When Briala took the passageway that night only a week ago, she took it slowly, watching every step in case Celene had deliberately baited her into a trap. But none came, and the little clues she left herself to check for disturbances were still in place even from months before. At first, Briala had been angry for succumbing to the Game again, thinking the worst of everyone. Then she became furious because Celene was telling the truth. She had left herself, the only one capable of turning the tide for the elves peacefully, open for attack. From none other than Briala herself.

She had never meant to hurt Celene that night, never even intended for her hand to be taken as a threat. But as she stood watch, silent and shadowed in the great bedchamber, watching Celene relieve the pain of her corset, she had to touch her. Her neck had been the only expanse of skin available, and Celene had been so willing to end it all right there. Was it the ultimate sacrifice, or the ultimate play in the Game? Was there anything she and Celene could do to each other that wouldn’t be a part of the Game?

No, Celene had tried her best to be honest so far. It was not a play in the Game. It was a relinquishment of power. Briala sighed, her knuckles growing white as she fisted her hands tightly. She did not want relinquishment. She did not want murder. She wanted…

Lord Pierre of Halamshiral finally strode into the hallway, and Briala relaxed her face beneath her mask. Celene was meeting with him, among many other visiting dignitaries today, to discuss various matters. Simply put: they were negotiations. The nobles would demand something of the Empress, and she would demand something back. It was a seemingly endless back and forth that had gone on for the entire week but Briala had to admit she had just a bit more respect for the Empress now. Having dealt in her first true negotiation with Celene, she couldn’t imagine being pitted up against Game player after Game player for a week, no matter their skill at it.

“Lord Pierre,” she greeted as he neared, extending her hand.

Lord Pierre was known as a kind man. He was also known for being the first to surrender to Celene during the civil war. That meant that he was seen as cowardly or wise by the other nobles. Briala would have to approach him cautiously. Being an elf could either help or hinder her now, depending on how Lord Pierre felt about the elves and his still-burned slums.

“Marquise Briala,” he said, taking her hand. “Forgive me, I was not aware you were here as well.”

There was no hesitation in his greeting, but his voice strained slightly on her title. However, he was quick to take her hand and hold it gently, not as if it was diseased. Unsure of her new title but not unkind then. A good start. If Celene wasn’t willing to risk her reputation as she’d promised, Briala would just have to go around her.

“I wondered if you had a moment?”

Lord Pierre extended his arm and Briala took it, going for her eleventh walk around the guests’ quarters.

“I understand reparations are being made to your fair city at an efficient pace,” she began.

Lord Pierre’s mask shifted just slightly, indicative of his face relaxing. He looked tired. No doubt he was after a day of negotiations with the Empress.

“Empress Celene has been most generous with her loans,” he agreed before side-eyeing the elf. “Fire, however, is a great deal harder to clean up than mortar damage.”

So he was not a stupid man, either. Briala hid her smile and instead looked out one of the nearby windows, giving Lord Pierre’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Well, I may not be able to offer coin, but I can offer labor and supplies from the Dales.”

“Such a generous offer.”

“Think of the glorious new neighborhood you could build.”

It was a typical dance of the Game. Briala had chosen her words carefully, knowing that Lord Pierre would understand the supplies were not for another slum, but for a neighborhood where the elves could live more comfortably.

“This labor, it would consist of elves, would it not?”

“It would. They are most eager to help their fellow elves in need.”

Lord Pierre sighed and stopped the walk near the bannister. Briala dropped her hand and he turned to lean against the rail. Briala allowed the man his time to think. He was the first noble other than Celene to even give her a chance at speaking. She would not squander it. Finally Lord Pierre stood and shook his head sadly.

“I’m sorry, Marquise, but I cannot take the risk. Not now. Wounds are still healing from the uprising and it…wouldn’t do to have an influx of elves to the city. It is concern for their safety I fear. And in my delicate position, I cannot choose sides so soon.”

It was a fair point. He was not a strong enough man to quell any dissident voices. At least he was big enough to admit that both to himself and to her. Briala nodded, keeping her face stoic.

“Of course. Perhaps at a later date.”

Lord Pierre chuckled. “It shall be interesting to see what the Marquise will be able to do at a later date.”

For once, it was not a threat. Rather, there was a bit of hope in his voice and Briala allowed herself to smile.

“If it’s any consolation, Marquise, the funds from the Winter Palace should spur the rebuilding of the…neighborhood.”

“The funds?”

“Yes. Empress Celene met with the Inquisition’s diplomat a few days ago. They agreed to rebuild the Winter Palace in exchange for Celene’s public support of the Grey Wardens. Nasty business, those Wardens. The money that was going towards the palace now goes back to Halamshiral. It should be more than suitable.”

Briala’s chest ached at the words and guilt knotted in her stomach. Nevertheless she managed a kind smile towards Lord Pierre, bowing politely.

“I wish you luck. Now, I believe I’ll take my leave. Meetings with the Empress are not necessarily relaxing affairs.”

Lord Pierre nodded, dipped his head, and turned to make his way back to his room. It was Briala’s turn to rest against the bannister. She had her spies gathering as much information on these talks as she could, but some things were bound to be missed. Stupidly, she had asked them to focus on the visiting Ferelden diplomat instead of Josephine Montilyet that day. Celene had come through for her again, even after she thought Briala tried to kill her. Briala sighed. She had to see the Empress. Tonight.

 

* * *

 

“The Red Templars are becoming more rampant through Emprise du Lion, majesty,” Lord Basil reiterated, his ears turning pink with anger. It looked rather comical against his decorated green mask and formalwear, but Celene kept that to herself.

She had met with diplomat after diplomat this week. And, other than a charming Josephine Montilyet, they had all tried to get more without giving any, be it support, titles, or coin. They cared nothing for the mage and Templar rebellion, nor the Grey Wardens, nor the blighted fade ring lighting up the sky. They cared only for themselves, as usual. It made it all the easier for Celene to dance around them. Jenara stood behind her, against the wall, watching and listening as she waited to refill the Empress’ tea. With all of the various visitors and complaints, Celene had Jenara study up on who she was meeting with, including reading a few sensitive documents. Two minds were better than one, after all. Especially when the Empress had so much on her plate.

Ser Adele stood by the door, arms clasped behind her back, sword at her hip, pretending not to listen. As Celene glanced her way, she saw the chevalier give a small, supportive smirk. Lord Basil’s speech would be far more convincing if he wasn’t after the money for himself. Adele seemed to pick that up as well.

“The Inquisition has promised to handle the Red Templar threat,” she said easily, pretending to mill through her files.

“And until they do? My people are starving. Elfsblood River has completely frozen over. I demand something be done, else—

Ser Adele stepped forward, drawing her sword halfway out of its scabbard. “You dare threaten the Empress?”

The pink drained from Lord Basil’s ears, as well as the rest of his face. He lifted both his hands in the air, stammering out apologies. Though he had been a soldier in the Imperial Army, only chevaliers could best chevaliers. And as Celene’s champion, Adele was well within her right to cut him down on sight if she believed him a true threat. Celene allowed him to carry on for a moment before she lifted her hand. Immediately, Adele returned her sword and stepped back to her spot. Sometimes a demonstration of the Empress’ power was necessary, no matter how superficial.

Jenara stepped to Celene’s side and placed a teacup on an empty section of the table. As she set it, her pinky extended, tapping the corner of one of the documents. It looked like nothing more than a slight flourish of the hand, but as the Empress lifted the teacup to her lips, she also picked up the specified document and read it over.

“I have this document, here,” she began after a long sip. “It comes from the Inquisition…and bears your signature. It looks as if you’ve already negotiated for supplies…and their offer is generous.”

The pink returned to Lord Basil’s ears for an entirely different reason and Celene allowed herself to smile as she stood, making her way over to him. He took a step back. Good, he was intimidated.

“This offer will keep Emprise du Lion supplied for months. So tell me, my good lord, what more you could possibly want from the Empress?”

Lord Basil swallowed, his eyes shifting back and forth from Celene’s eyes. He was an angry little man with a short fuse. But Celene didn’t quite want to set it off. He was also a notoriously proud man, a soldier, and insulting him too much would result in an enemy rather than an ally. But she could play into his fierce patriotism and love for military. She waited just a hair longer, until he was just about to explode, before stepping back and turning her eyes to the document.

“Now, as I understand, most of your silverite mines are still making their shipments on time. With the terror in the sky, Orlais could use more silverite to equip our chevaliers. Given the tempestuous situation with the Grey Wardens, it seems likely that our chevaliers will lead the charge should a war come.” Celene allowed the slightest bit of worry to cross her mouth, enough for even the inept Lord Basil to notice.

Lord Basil’s eyes perked up as he saw it, and he gave an overzealous bow. “Majesty, it would be an honor to supply the chevaliers. Consider our silverite Emprise du Lion’s commitment to ensuring the safety of Orlais.”

Celene widened her eyes just enough to indicate surprise. “Such a generous offer, my lord. The Empire thanks you, and Orlais will be ready to vanquish whatever comes out of the skies.”

“Yes, they will, your majesty.”

Lord Basil, his pride restored, bowed again and Ser Adele opened the door for him, escorting him out. Once the door shut behind him, Celene resumed her seat on the couch. Her head pounded despite the tea and her back was beginning to ache. But she made no showing of this to the other two in the room. In fact, despite her pain, the Empress still felt rather sharp even after a week of playing the Game. Perhaps her session with Briala, though severe, was the training she had needed for these talks. However, she couldn’t think of Briala just yet. The day was not quite over. Instead she lifted the document in her hand and looked to Jenara.

“Clever,” she praised, meeting the elf’s eyes.

Jenara would have held her gaze a moment longer were it not for Ser Adele smiling behind the Empress. Instead, she flushed slightly and nodded.

“I wish to serve, Empress.”

Celene thought about correcting her. She didn’t wish to serve. No one wished to serve. Not even she, the most powerful woman in all of Thedas, would wish this job upon anyone. But now did not seem like the time, so she merely placed a hand on the elf’s shoulder, feeling her jump beneath it, and turned to Adele.

“You were also clever.”

“To aid you is an honor, majesty,” Adele said with a short bow.

Celene saw her eyes flicker to Jenara and realized that she had, in a way, corrected the elf like Celene had wanted to. She wasn’t sure if Jenara caught it or not, given the elf’s bowed head, but she appreciated the effort. With a wave of her hand Jenara was sent out to retrieve the next diplomat. She returned just a moment later, empty handed.

“Lady Seryl regrets to inform you that she has come down with an illness. The healers say it’s catching and she does not wish to risk Her Radiance. If it pleases you, she’ll stay only until her coach is ready.”

Celene smiled softly. Lady Seryl was an older, firecracker of a woman, and she had always been fiercely loyal to Celene. She had demonstrated that loyalty even when Celene was presumed dead, and the Empress held her in high esteem. Lady Seryl was also infamous for catching every illness in Thedas yet always emerging unscathed. While initially Celene feared that such a trait would kill her ally, she had since learned that they only seemed to make Lady Seryl stronger.

“Tell Lady Seryl that she will not be traveling while ill and fetch our best healers and the apothecary to tend to her. Then send the next one in.”

“Lady Seryl was the last for today, your majesty,” Jenara said with a bow before leaving the room once more.

The door clicked shut behind her and Celene narrowed her eyes at Adele. “Don’t tell me I’m done early for a change.”

“You’ve earned a break, your majesty.”

“I believe I’ve read about those.”

Adele chuckled. “Her radiance is in a fine mood.”

Celene shrugged and lifted her teacup to her lips for one last sip. Though her situation with Briala was still tender, she had accomplished much in this week. Plus, the talks had helped to clear her mind from personal matters. She was also more than impressed with her new Champion and handmaiden, which eased some of her stress. Just as she finished her tea there was a knock at the door. Adele opened it and spoke to someone outside, then closed it and turned with a letter in her hand.

“Urgent notice from the University,” Adele said, opening the letter to make sure it only contained parchment before handing it to the Empress.

Celene unfolded the letter and as her eyes scanned the words, Adele noticed that her face fell more with each line. Celene set her teacup down and folded the letter back, running her thumb across the fold.

“Well, I suppose it was never meant to last.”

 

* * *

 

Briala’s spies had told her that the Empress had finished early for the day, following Lady Seryl’s illness. After checking up that Lady Seryl was indeed ill, Briala made her way through the passage to the Empress’ room. She decided against her mask and wore the simplest gown she’d brought, attempting to seem as unthreatening as possible. She wasn’t exactly sure what she would say to Celene, but she had to do something. Something to thank her for her efforts or…Briala slowed in the middle of the passageway.

Would Celene even want to see her? She hadn’t thought about that. Briala sighed and remembered the events of last week. Celene had been so broken and yet she had called Briala her love. Briala started moving again. Whether or not Celene wanted to see her, it had to be done. She reached the mirror and slid it open. After a brief look around she stepped inside to find the Empress at her desk, writing furiously. Briala could see even from her distance that the Empress was tense. Her shoulders were locked and her posture was rigidly straight. The scribbling of the quill suggested anger as well.

“Celene,” Briala called.

The Empress stopped writing and lifted her head. “Yes?”

“Is this a bad time?”

She heard a humorless scoff. “I suppose that depends on what you’re here for.”

Though it wasn’t meant to be cruel, Briala felt the words stick all the same. She licked her lips and took a few steps forward. Given that Celene was already tense she couldn’t tell if the Empress was afraid or angered by her presence…or something else entirely.

“I spoke with Lord Pierre today. He told me of your talks. I…I wanted to—

“I take it you haven’t heard,” Celene said, standing and turning to face Briala.

She had already changed into her nightgown and her hair was down, flipped over to one side as she wrote. Her silk nightgown was blue and it brought out the ferocity of her eyes. Briala could see the set line of her jaw and also the slight tremor in her cheek.

“Heard what?”

Celene turned to her desk and grabbed a letter, extending it to Briala. The elf took it and began to read, but Celene appeared to be too upset to wait.

“Aeian Sulemahd is dead,” she said, not bothering to keep her voice from cracking. “One of the pieces he was working on exploded. ‘Cannot trust raw lyrium,’” she quoted bitterly, running a hand through her hair. “More like cannot trust Orlesians. Oh, and the statue of me that was supposed to adorn the palace? Ruined by the explosion. Do they think me that stupid? It needs a team of horses to move and I highly doubt he was working on a project in the University’s ballroom.”

Briala finished reading the letter as Celene finished her tirade. She folded it slowly, her shoulders heavy. It was always one step forward and ten steps back. She had grown used to this, used it to fuel her fight instead of getting her down. In this situation, it seemed the Empress learned that yet. “They don’t think you’re stupid. But they know there’s nothing you can do about it. The University did this?”

“It doesn’t matter who did it. What matters is that it’s done.”

Celene shook her head and moved to sit on the edge of her bed. She looked deathly tired, as if her fury was the only thing keeping her upright. Briala noticed the excess tea leaves next to the teapot as well. She made her way over to Celene but stopped short of the bed.

“I thought I had done it,” Celene murmured more to herself than Briala. “I thought that he was going to be famous, that he’d travel all over Thedas promoting his works. An elf and art. He was the symbol of my legacy.” She sighed bringing her hands up to rub at her eyes before moving to her temples. “I can’t do this, Bria. I cannot invest myself into a single life like this. It will break me before…” she stopped and rose from the bed, making her way back to the desk. She picked up the letter she had been working on and read it over before crumpling it up and tossing it into the fire.

“What was that?” Briala asked quietly.

“He had family in Jader. Since I was the one that brought him here, it felt right to be the one to inform them.” Celene turned and sat at her desk again. She grabbed a new piece of parchment and began writing again.

Briala watched her for a moment, the sharp rise and fall of her back, that still strained posture. She had a mage and Templar rebellion on her hands, a hole in the sky, a Grey Warden crisis, Tevinter at her borders and an angry elf in her bedroom. It was a wonder she was still standing. Briala understood the strains of the Empress. She had ever since she returned to Celene. But these were not the normal strains of an Empress and she wondered how the woman was still upright. Celene sighed again and crumpled another sheet of parchment, throwing it over her shoulder. It landed near Briala’s feet and she unwrapped it quietly. The ink was smudged but what she did read was compassionate, inflamed, and a little awkward.

Celene had just finished writing Aeian’s parents’ names when she felt Briala’s arms come around her. The Empress closed her eyes for a moment and leaned back in her chair, Briala’s arms further encircling her and holding her tightly. She felt the elf’s cheek against hers, smelled the jasmine that scented the baths of the guests’ quarters, and brought her hands up to hold her.

“Start a new one,” Briala whispered into her ear. “This one looks like it was written quickly.”

Celene obeyed and with a newly steadied hand, wrote the introduction again. Her penmanship was pristine, professional with just a touch of personal flare. It had yet to be duplicated. Briala smiled at it softly, then began to whisper again.

“It is with deepest regret that I inform you…”

Together they wrote the letter, Briala stepping in to form the words Celene could feel but not say. It ended up being three sheets long and when the Empress went to make her signature, she took her time on it, creating embellishments and flourishes that were indicative of care. Briala didn’t know if Aeian’s parents would understand that, but it was a nice gesture nonetheless. The letter was now eloquent and compassionate, but it wouldn’t soften the blow any less. Putting her quill back in its inkpot, Celene sighed and traced her fingertips along Briala’s arm.

“Should I send them coin?”

“It might seem impersonal.”

“That’s what I feared. But we both know that had he lived…”

“Send them the coin it would cost to purchase all of his sculptures. Have it phrased as such. It comes across as his earnings and not yours.”

Celene nodded and Briala resisted the urge to kiss her cheek. The Empress seemed much calmer now. They both did. Almost as if last week hadn’t happened. Almost. Briala squeezed Celene just a bit tighter, hoping to soften the blow of her next words.

“Why didn’t you tell me about my parents?”

Celene sighed but stayed in Briala’s grasp. “I was young, afraid. And I’d just made my first play in the Game. It was horrible, the worst I’d ever felt. I suppose I wanted to…protect you from that. I meant it when I’d sent you away. I didn’t want you swept up in all of this treachery. After you’d gone, I used to imagine you playing with halla in the fields or listening to ancient stories by a fire.”

Briala grimaced. Those were nice thoughts. Thoughts she had as well about the Dalish. But like so many things, nothing was ever as it seemed. Instead the Dalish were cold, their wagons old and refurbished, and their tales filled with bitterness and betrayal. In some ways Briala was glad she’d never made to them when she was younger. If they had actually accepted her she probably would have grown up to be more bitter than she was now, lost in the past instead of working towards a future.

“And when I returned to you with news of Lady Mantillon’s death? Why not then?”

Celene gave a bitter laugh. “I could say that I wanted you to put it past you, that I didn’t want you to relive that moment again. And those are true. But if I’m honest, I was relieved that you didn’t know. I thought it was over, that I wouldn’t have to worry about it any longer. And I’m paying the price for that selfishness.”

Briala pulled away as Celene knew she would. She expected to feel her leave at any moment, leaving her alone once more. Instead, she felt hands on her back, massaging the tension away. Celene relaxed into the touch for just a moment before she caught herself, leaning forward and away from Briala’s hands.

“No, you shouldn’t have to—

Briala hushed her and placed her hands again, working up and down the Empress’ spine. There were some knots that had to be months old and her hands began to ache from the effort but slowly Celene’s back eased. To her credit, Celene kept her mouth shut the entire time, refusing admit pleasure in the massage and instead rationalizing it as some sort of necessity. And in a way it was. Easing the tension in her back also quelled her raging headache.

Silently, Briala took Celene’s hand and led her over to the bed, which had already been turned down. She pulled the covers back and the Empress slid inside, eyes growing half-lidded when she hit the pillow. However, they soon widened when they saw Briala unbutton her dress, dropping it to the floor and leaving her in just her chemise.

There was a slight panic in Celene’s eyes as Briala crawled towards her. A hesitation and confusion that hurt the elf more than she cared to admit. Still, Briala gave a calm smile and hushed her as she climbed in next to her.

“Sleep, Celene,” she ordered as she pulled the covers to their shoulders. “Orlais needs its Empress at her best.”

Celene opened her mouth as if to retort, but then Briala placed a hand over hers and held it tightly. It wasn’t how they used to sleep. Normally, Briala would rest against the rise and fall of Celene’s chest, her heartbeat lulling her to sleep. But that was too much for now.

Celene gave Briala one last, sad smile, and closed her eyes. She was asleep in moments, her body immediately relaxing against the sheet. When she woke in the morning, refreshed and pain free for the time in weeks, Briala was already gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the length, and possibly quality, of this chapter. It seemed to have escaped out from underneath me. But hopefully the next will fare better and the read is still enjoyable.

“I don’t recognize these names,” Briala said as she rifled through her spy’s notes.

He nodded from his place in the corner, securing the servants’ mask back over his eyes. They were in a storage room near the kitchen and she squinted in the dim lighting. Following the news of Aeian’s death, Briala had her spies infiltrating the University to search for suspects. They had been found out quickly, though not out of any skill of her spies.

“Low ranking nobles. Likely their parents had to pull strings to get them into the University. I didn’t see much intellect among them.” He reached up and dabbed lightly at his swollen lip.

Briala glanced over at him. “Are you all right?”

“Just a scratch, my lady.”

Briala suppressed the anger that coiled in her stomach and lowered the notes to examine his injury. It wasn’t severe, as he said, but she grabbed his chin anyway, tilting it to get a better view. She saw the subtle flicker of attraction in his eyes and ignored it. She had been told of her beauty since a young age and had since learned to ignore or deal with unwanted advances. The fact that the boy’s eyes were almost the same shade as Celene’s, however, had her dropping his chin unceremoniously.

“Ask Rilene for some stewed cabbage. It should help with the swelling,” she said before going back to the notes. “They hold weekly meetings on how to silence us? How can the University allow such a thing?”

“They don’t know about it. They meet under the guise of being Wicked Grace enthusiasts.”

Briala scoffed. Low ranking nobles who had never been told no in their lives. Likely kicked at dogs and elves on the streets alike. She knew their kind all too well. But if these reports were correct, they were beyond a nuisance. They were a threat. Aeian’s blood was on their hands. And if there were no repercussions they would most assuredly act again. Something bigger, bolder, and immeasurably asinine.

Lord Mainserai entered Briala’s thoughts, as he often did. The stupid, privileged noble that effectively ruined everything Celene and Briala had fought for. And all for a thrown rock. If these nobles were left unchecked, another elven rebellion would be on their hands. And the Val Royeaux alienage was thousands strong, a formidable foe in their numbers alone. The parchment in her hand crumpled as her grip tightened around it. She had been working too hard for a handful of clowns to ruin it now.

“You’re sure these are all of them?” she asked, lifting up the pages with the names.

“Yes, my lady. It is a small group of outcasts. The Empress’ University has largely swayed the minds of most of the youth regarding us.”

It was a nice sentiment, but it only took one weak link to break the chain. “I want our people on them at all times, watching, listening, intercepting. They’re planning something, and we must be prepared.”

“Yes, my lady,” he answered before stooping to pick up a box of supplies for the kitchen.

Briala placed her ear to the door and listened. There was the soft patter of elven feet, but none of the stomping that accompanied the humans. Putting her mask into place, she opened the door and stepped out, closing it briskly behind her. There was a single elven servant dusting the crown molding and she paid no mind as Briala passed. When she was near the end of the hall, Briala heard the sound of a door opening. She turned the corner and spared a glance to see the young fellow exiting the storage room with his box, scurrying to the kitchen. The elven girl paid him no mind either. Good girl. Whether or not the elves were actively involved in Briala’s underground force, they seemed to respect it either way.

Briala’s visit was nearing its end. In two days’ time she would be returning to the Dales. While she had not gotten everything she wanted, she couldn’t deny that it had been a productive visit, albeit exhausting. Politically, she was exactly where she wanted to be. In every other aspect she just felt drained. She hadn’t seen Celene since the morning she slipped out of her bedchamber. But she had heard that the Empress had approved impressive new trade agreements and put the minister of trade in his place when he questioned her. She’d also heard that the Empress was back to her normal six cups of tea a day, instead of her recent fourteen or so. All good signs. Briala was not conceited enough to give herself credit for all of that. Celene was a remarkable woman. But sleep could fell even the toughest of beasts, the Empress included.

She reached her quarters and entered the room, leaning against the door as it closed behind her. A small part of her was eager to get back to the Dales. Her correspondence had been frequent, but it paled in comparison to being there in person. She also wanted to check on her trade routes through the Eluvians, possibly open a few more while she was in there. The ruby that opened the Eluvians was in her pocket, as it always was, and she pressed a hand against it, looking around the room.

Something was out of place.

Briala stood from the door, her body tense as she studied the room. There were a few tells that she had placed around the room in case Celene sent someone to do any snooping, but they were all where they were supposed to be. She narrowed her eyes and slowed her search. Then she saw it.

It was on her bed. A sheet of folded cloth, almost the same color as the sheets. Briala stepped towards the bed and studied the cloth. There was Dalish embroidery around the corners. Felassan. A thousand questions raced through Briala’s mind. He certainly could have made it to Val Royeaux in this length of time, but he was anything but subtle. How could he have gotten into the palace, much less her chambers? Questions that she couldn’t answer now. Taking a corner of the cloth, Briala flipped it open, bracing herself just in case.

Folded between the cloth were two things. A large, gaudy pair of elven ears that were used in the theater, and a lone flower. Briala leaned down to examine the flower. Itchweed. Briala grimaced and picked up the ears. They were massive and monstrous, and she fought her desire to chuck them into the fireplace. It was a warning of some sort. The itchweed told her that much. But the ears…. She quickly began to think of what they could symbolize. The ears were extravagant, tacky, used in the theater. They symbolized elves, of course, and the ignorant humans who laughed at them.

Briala dropped the ears and raced to the door. She kept her pace as brisk as possible without drawing attention and made her way to the left wing, where Celene usually frequented. As she turned a corner she saw Jenara coming up the steps, fresh tea tray in her hand.

“Jenara,” she called sternly.

The jumped slightly at her tone, eyes widening as they fell upon the Marquise. She dipped into a low bow, the tea tray shaking in her hands. “M-my lady?”

“The Empress. Is she taking you to the theater tonight?”

Jenara paused for just a moment, and Briala caught the tip of her ear twitching. But then the elf’s shoulders relaxed in defeat.

“Yes, my lady.”

“I need to see her. Now. It is an emergency.”

Jenara rose from her bow, daring for just a moment to meet Briala’s eyes. Whatever she saw must have been convincing for she dipped her head in a nod and proceeded at a brisk pace down the hall, Briala following behind. She led Briala to one of the studies and Briala stepped past her, pushing the door open.

The entrance was not one of a servant. Ser Adele’s hand went immediately to her sword before she realized it was the Marquise. Celene was sitting at a desk surrounded by parchment and she turned at the noise. She was in a black gown that was covered in silver and gold embroidering. Her mask was black as well, pearl inlaid for her features. She looked better than Briala had seen her in a long while, and a knot crept into her throat at the news she brought.

Briala curtsied low before the Empress, buying Jenara time to step inside and close the door behind them. Ser Adele eyed her warily, still put off by her poor entrance, but her awareness to the security of the Empress was pleasing. When she rose Celene was standing before her. Clearly she had seen that something was wrong and Briala cursed her own lack of tact.

“Majesty,” she said as she rose.

Celene nodded once, her chin lifting just barely in Jenara’s direction. Briala shook her head. She needed Jenara and Adele here for this.

“I believe there’s going to be an attempt on your life at the theater tonight,” she said slowly.

Celene exhaled, unsurprised but perhaps a little disappointed. “Explain.”

“I was looking into the death of Aeian, and I found a small group of students at the University. They hate elves and strive to undo our progress at every turn. I believe they were behind Aeian’s death and look to strike at you tonight.”

“How do you know?” Adele asked, her hand gripping tightly to her sword as she took another step towards the Empress.

Briala kept her eyes on Celene. “Felassan.”

Celene blinked. “He’s back?”

“I believe so.”

“You’ve seen him?”

“No, but he left a warning in my bedchamber.”

Celene turned to pace. In the corner of her eye, Briala saw Jenara’s ears twitch. No doubt concerned for her own life tonight as well as Celene’s.

“Your majesty,” Adele began, “we cannot go to the theater tonight.”

“We must. It will look weak if I don’t. Is there any way to find who’s responsible beforehand?”

“When are you supposed to be there?”

“We leave in an hour,” Adele said.

Briala thought for a moment, then shook her head. “It’s likely they hired bards. Even if we apprehended the nobles…”

Celene nodded and gestured to Jenara to pour her a cup of tea. “This does not bode well for my trip to Jader.”

Briala frowned. “Jader?”

Celene flashed her a ghost of a smile, taking the cup that Jenara offered. “Your spies are slacking,” she said before taking a small sip. “Should the Inquisition fail, Orlais needs to be ready for battle. We’ll need allies.”

“You have allies, your majesty.”

“On paper only.”

The Empress took another sip, lifting her eyes to meet Briala’s.

“Ferelden,” Briala said quietly.

Celene nodded. “I’m heading to Jader to initiate further peace talks with Anora. Leaving just after an attack will make me seem weak. It will be like Halamshiral all over again. Yet I hesitate to break plans with the Queen. Our relationship is tenuous at best.”

“Forgive me, majesty,” Adele said, “But Anora’s hurt feelings are not worth risking your life.”

Celene chuckled. “It is not Anora’s feelings I fear.”

Briala knew that before the Fifth Blight Celene was corresponding with King Cailan of Ferelden. Rumors had circulated that his wife, Anora, was barren and Celene was young and beautiful and new. Had Cailan not perished and the blight not begun, it was likely that Cailan would have left Anora and married Celene, falling right into Celene’s plan of retaking Ferelden for Orlais. The King was too naïve (and perhaps too libidinous) to see through Celene’s plan but Anora was not. And it was a known fact that she had never quite forgiven Celene for attempting to remove her from her seat of power. The peace talks were a bold move, a good move. She couldn’t back out.

“Besides, these fools must not be made to believe that they can sway any part of me. I am the Empress of Orlais and I tire of these fools who think a blade or poisoned arrow can scare me.”

It was a simple enough line, but it made Briala shiver all the same. There was a ferocious passion in Celene’s voice, along with the ever commanding tone of the Empress. Briala felt as if she’d just heard some triumphant war speech instead of what could be reduced to complaining. Adele and Jenara seemed to feel the same, the chevalier straightening where Jenara lowered her head further.

Celene sat down on the couch, beckoning for Briala to join her. The elf obeyed and the room was silent for a few moments. Briala wracked over every piece of information she had for this evening. Adele would certainly be on high alert, and she had no real reservations about the fact that Celene could take care of herself, regardless. But that didn’t stop the cold blade of dread from dragging itself down the back of her neck. There was a very real possibility that Celene could die tonight. Just like she could have died by Florianne, by the Varterral, by Gaspard, the Dalish, a possessed tree of all things. But she just kept going. And while Celene seemed more annoyed than anything else, Briala wondered how many more threats of death she could take.

No matter how many times Celene had returned to her arms alive and well, the dread remained. She wondered if Celene ever felt the same. Her mind flickered back to their battle with the Varterral, where Celene had hesitated just long enough for the beast to attack Briala. But in the end, she did attack, delivering the final blow on the beast.

“I have an idea,” she ventured slowly, feeling all eyes turn on her.

“You must go to the theater and face the attack. But the attack itself is a sign that the Empress is weak. However…if Celene were to stop the assassin herself—

“Absolutely not,” Adele interrupted with a shake of her head. “The Empress will not be put in harm’s way just to satisfy the Game.”

“Is it the Empress’ life you fear for, chevalier, or your honor?” Briala returned.

Adele gripped her sword tighter. “Too many things could go wrong. I am sworn to protect the Empress with my life and I _will_ die by that promise.”

Jenara lifted her head slightly at the words, her eyes laid warily upon Adele’s sword hand. Briala turned to Celene, who had not so much as blinked she told her plan.

“Think about it, Celene,” she dared, noting that the two other women in the room tensed at the familiarity. “The Empress of Orlais herself stops a foolish attack on her life. She needs no chevalier, no Champion. She is the Lioness. An attack to show your weakness instead exemplifies your strength.”

Celene sighed, fingers tapping against her dress as she calculated. Her eyes moved back and forth in thought, jaw working. Briala knew she was working through the same possibilities as she had, possibly even more. Finally she lifted her head and turned to Briala.

“Would you be willing to send some people ahead, along with my own, to gather as much information as we can?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“First Florianne and now this,” she exhaled. “No, it is the only way to show strength in this situation. And I cannot leave an uneasy Val Royeaux with suspicions of weakness.”

“Your majesty.” Adele’s dark eyes were pleading as she took a step forward. “I can’t not protect you.”

Celene looked to Briala then back at her champion. “Perhaps you may still need to. Should things go wrong, I trust you to make the right decision.”

Adele opened her mouth to protest again but Celene held up a hand. “Jenara, we must go get changed,” she said, standing.

“Shall I don my armor?” Adele asked.

“No, wear exactly what you were going to wear before this news. We cannot give any sign that we know of the strike.”

“Your majesty, I’d like to accompany you,” Briala said as she stood with the Empress.

Celene shook her head. “Having you there takes away from Jenara. They need to see her with me.”

“But—

“No.”

Without another word Celene stepped towards the door. Adele opened it for her and Celene stepped out, Jenara following dutifully behind. The chevalier then closed the door just enough to stop their voices from carrying, her eyes hardened on Briala.

“If the Empress dies tonight, know that I will consider you at fault,” she threatened.

Briala lifted her head just slightly, sizing up the soldier. She was far too skilled and strong for Briala, but poison was not limited by such factors.

“If the Empress dies tonight, pray you die along with her.”

 

* * *

 

“Leave just a bit loose, Jenara,” Celene ordered as the elf began to tighten her corset. “I need to be able to move tonight.”

The elf said nothing, but there was the slightest bit of hesitance before she pulled on the satin laces. They were silent as the elf tightened the laces, and Celene felt two shaky fingers touch her skin as Jenara inserted her fingers between the corset and her back to test its looseness. Intrusively her mind flashed to Briala, a memory of the elf’s fingers sliding along her skin causing her to flush before she could shake it away.

“Is that suitable, majesty?” she asked quietly.

Celene raised her arms and turned her body to the side. It was still a corset, still restricting, but she could maintain her full breath. Any looser would show against her bodice anyway, and would be a weak execution at subtlety. It would have to do.

“Yes, thank you.”

Celene had chosen a deep purple gown with golden embroidery. It sat well on her shoulders and she could lift her arms well in it. It was a bit heavier but she would rather sacrifice speed than mobility. Plus, it bared the colors of the Valmont family. The people needed every reminder of who she was tonight. Jenara buttoned the gown up deftly. She then went to the bureau and picked up a diadem. A roaring golden lion with amethyst eyes sat in the center, its mane splaying out to create the designs in the band. Jenara stood on her toes at the Empress bent her knee slightly so that the elf could place it properly on her head. It sat just in front of her elaborate bun which was speckled with golden beads. Jenara stepped back with a bowed head and Celene turned to study herself in the mirror. Her recent night’s sleep had done her well, and the bags beneath her eyes had receded. She looked healthy, powerful, and she allowed her reflection a proud smile. Now was not the time for timidity or second guesses. With efficient grace she turned to face Jenara.

She was wearing the same colors, but in slightly lighter shades. Her dress was beautifully done, but not enough to outshine the Empress’. Her fire red hair was pulled up into a golden hair cover to keep the colors consistent. Jenara flushed under Celene’s gaze, dipping her head and Celene spared her by going over to the bed, where the final piece laid. It was a lion’s head, similar to the one she’d worn at the Summer Ball, but smaller. Ornate enough to be a tribute to Celene as opposed to an imitation. She lifted it and went behind the elf, locking it in place on her back. Once it was straight and steady, Celene reached out and tugged on one of the spikes. It pulled out easily, revealing a dagger. She tested one more on the opposite side, pleased to find the same. When she slid it back into place the elf in front of her shivered.

Celene turned her around and lifted the elf’s perpetually lowered head. Jenara met her eyes and for once held the Empress’ gaze. Celene hoped that it was tenacity that kept her eyes there, not the fear that lingered in the back of Celene’s mind.

“I need you strong tonight, Jenara,” she commanded softly. “For me.”

Jenara swallowed, and Celene could see the fear retreat from her eyes, replaced with a steely stoicism.

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Everything will be fine,” she finished, wondering if she was saying that more for herself than the elf. She was a fine bard and had kept her training up since Halamshiral. But she was in a ball gown and corset, and she knew nothing of what was to come tonight. Would they use arrows or poison or daggers? And would Adele come to her aid in time should she need it? These were questions she could not answer until it was too late. Lifting her head just a bit higher, she made her way over to her bureau and applied the ring Lady Mantillon had given her. The room became shaper and she allowed Jenara to escort her out of the room and to her carriage.

Following Celene’s last visit to the theater, which ended rather poorly, the owner of the Grande Royeaux Theater was effusive with her apologies and praise towards the Empress. Celene considered the owner blameless in the matter. Gaspard had threatened her son’s life should she not put on the play insinuating Celene’s elven lover, and matters of the heart held sway over even the most loyal souls. Tonight, as Celene was helped down from her carriage by Ser Adele, the owner was before her, bowing so low as to topple herself over.

“Your majesty, you honor us with your presence,” she said. “Tonight will be a most wonderful performance, I assure you.”

Celene allowed herself to smile at the owner as she listened to the crowd gathered around her. The murmurs were of a lighter nature since her last visit, inquiring mostly about the beautiful young elf now being helped down from the carriage. Ser Adele held Jenara’s hand tightly as she descended and gave it a reassuring squeeze before she let it go. When Jenara’s feet reached the ground, she surprised the chevalier by standing tall and making her way over to Celene’s side, head raised as if it had always been so.

“We hope you enjoy the show, too, my lady,” the owner said to Jenara, dipping her head politely.

Jenara gave a shy smile and dipped her head in return. Celene made a note to send something of a personal nature to the owner when this night was over. Circumstance had given her bad luck with the Empress’ chosen evenings, and she did not want to think her life was in danger because of it. She appeared much more confident tonight than the last, confirming Celene’s suspicions that she had no knowledge of what would happen inside. The Empress took small pleasure in the fact that at least someone’s loved one was safe tonight.

When they reached the box and had placed the pillows and sprayed the air, Celene dared a look at the crowd below. A few more elves were present--Lady Montsimmard’s, notably--sitting awkwardly next to their nobles and tugging at their new formalwear. The nobles all appeared to be in a pleasant mood, though Celene noted they still didn’t acknowledge their servants. Rather they sat them in a chair and ignored them like one would a young child. It appeared she’d have to do more hand-holding in the future, but she couldn’t dwell on it now.

She sat down and a servant appeared before her to pour her tea. He wore red slacks, as Briala said he would.

“How fares the play?” Celene asked him as he stood.

The man bowed and crouched by her side to speak quietly, though Jenara and Adele were still in earshot. “The play is said to contain a scare, though we know not when, you majesty,” he began. “Purple seems to be the color of fashion these days, as two men and a woman are wearing identical shades. The tea is splendid but there is disease in the air. Best not get too close to anyone.”

Celene nodded and the man stood and exited the booth. It was more information than she was expecting, and it eased her nerves just slightly. Though they didn’t know when the attack would strike, she and Adele and Jenara could be on the lookout for the bards themselves, all wearing purple, no doubt to insult the Empress if they were to take her life. Poison was not the weapon of choice and she dared a small sip of tea, noticing Jenara’s twitching ear as she did so. It was clean. But close distance meant daggers. Good. She was good at daggers. Celene lifted her head to better see Jenara in her peripheral. The elf was just to her left, angled out closer to the bannister so the Empress wouldn’t block her view. Both blades were in easy distance. Adele stood behind them, close enough to take a sip of tea herself. She was in a formal leather suit, as Celene instructed, and her sword hung at her side in a thin band. Should she need it quickly, the band could be broken faster than the sword could be pulled out.

Celene dared a look back at Adele. She looked calm and confident for the crowd below. But her eyes were searching, ears alert. Jenara was alert too, her breathing just a little too rapid to be unnoticeable. Hopefully it could be played off as nerves about sitting in the Empress’ box with the Empress.

The music began to sound as the play began and Celene turned her head towards the stage, though her eyes were everywhere but. From what little she caught of the play, it was a retelling of the battle at Ostagar, where the blight began and King Cailan lost his life. It seemed to exemplify Celene’s small involvement in the affair, changing history to show that the order had been given, Loghain Mac Tir had not betrayed Cailan, and Celene’s chevaliers had responded to the call to save the day and stop the blight. Historically inaccurate and logistically impossible, but supportive of her, if nothing else. The crowd seemed to garner a good laugh at the ineptitude of the Fereldans and Celene made sure to smile at appropriate parts with clues from the audience.

The second act was nearing its close and Adele hadn’t seen so much as a wayward servant. She could hear the actors down below bellowing as a great battle waged on, the awe of the crowd as they watched on. Across from Celene’s box sat other nobles, some with their elven servants, and they appeared to be enjoying the show. Adele couldn’t place their names as their masks were too far away to read. Then she saw the curtain shuffle from across the room. The pointed steel head of an arrow caught in the light and Adele lunged herself over the Empress, feeling the arrow imbed itself in her arm.

Celene reacted to Adele’s movement on instinct. The moment the chevalier moved from her periphery, Celene threw herself against Jenara, knocking them both to the floor. Adele was up immediately, oblivious to the screams of the crowd below as she wrenched the arrow out of her arm and watched as whatever noble was across the way wrestled with a woman robed in purple. A guard came up behind her and soon she disappeared to the ground. But that was too easy. She must have been a distraction.

Her sword already drawn, Adele turned just in time to stop another bard who appeared through the curtain. He had one dagger drawn upward, the other held low around his waist and she parried his attack, sending him back through the curtain. Adele flipped the curtain aside with her sword to see the bard regaining his footing. She stepped forward and gained the advantage, backing the bard against the wall and deftly avoiding his precise strikes. He was better than she would have thought, and kept trying to slip past her to get to the Empress. She continued to put her sword in between him and Celene, ignoring the pain in her arm and he stayed on the defensive, unable to attack but refusing to succumb to her blade.

Jenara shook violently beneath Celene, hands clenched and white knuckled, and her eyes shut as she shook her head. Celene pulled the daggers from her back and told her to stay down before she stood. She looked across the way where the arrow had come and found the booth empty, the curtain pulled back to reveal nothing. All eyes were on her box, where the Empress stood with two golden daggers in her hand. She turned back to her own curtain and saw Adele put the finishing blow on a man in purple. Blood dripped down her sleeve and onto the floor but her sword did not seem affected by the injury.

Her heart was racing, fingers twitching along her blades. One was down, presumably two. Still one left. There was a loud pop and black smoke filled the small box. Celene heard Adele shouting for her, the crowd screamed and raced to get a better view. Jenara whimpered somewhere to her right. Then a man emerged from the smoke, daggers poised, already lunging toward her. The ring helped her see everything clearly. His daggers were just a hair too high, leaving himself exposed. No doubt the bard with the most skill was sent to handle Adele. Celene kicked her foot out, sending the bench into the bard’s knees. He stumbled only a moment before leaping over it and towards her. She saw his blade extend and parried quickly, pushing him towards the balcony ledge. He disappeared from sight in the smoke and she braced herself as she followed him.

A blade sliced along her bodice. But the execution was weak and the dagger bounced off of her corset. The smoke was clearing out of the balcony as Celene dodged another attack. There was shouting down below, perhaps cheering? She couldn’t be sure. The bard swung wildly at her again and she parried. He was losing his temper and his mistakes were more frequent. The bard lifted his arm and the move was made clear to her. He extended much too far, going for strength of blow rather than precision, and his entire body was exposed. Celene lunged forward, pressing him against the balcony ledge, her blade going up underneath his chin. The man stilled, the daggers falling from his hands and down into the floor below. A few people screamed, others seemed to murmur in awe. Celene allowed the crowd to see her victorious smile and she pulled the dagger out quickly, sending his body toppling over the balcony and onto the floor.

Then it was utterly silent. Celene looked down to see Jenara huddled against a wall, arms locked around her knees. Her eyes were wide and mouth agape as she stared up at her Empress with what could only be described as reverence. Adele was by the curtain, mouth set in a grimace, body shaking with rage. Slowly, Celene turned back to the crowd. Smoke still billowed out from behind her and there were specks of blood on her cheek and chin. She held her head high.

“There are those who think me soft,” she said proudly, as if she were standing in front of a ballroom and not a smoking, bloodied theater box. Her voice silenced any and all murmurs, and there was the glinting sheen of metal masks being turned up towards her. “That just because I am not a soldier I do not know war. They see peace as cowardice and me as a fool.”

She held up her bloodied dagger, pointing it outwards. “Do I seem a coward now?” She paused to scoff. “I have plans for Orlais. Plans that far outreach the Fall Gala or the little games we play. And I will see them through.”

Because her people loved flair, she drove the dagger down into the wood of the balcony about two inches. It garnered the desired effect as the crowd bowed deeply, hailing her name and applauding as they rose. Celene accepted their praise for a few moments before she turned to Ser Adele. Sometime during her speech Jenara had risen and made her way to the chevalier’s side. She was no longer shaking, but she was ghostly pale, her eyes focused on the blood seeping from Adele’s sleeve.

“Was the arrow poisoned?” Celene asked as she pushed the bench out of the way and made to lead them down the stairs.

“I don’t believe so, majesty. Likely just a distraction.”

Adele’s words were forced. She seemed preoccupied. Celene decided to leave it alone for the time being.

“Have it looked at when we return to the palace.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

They reached the steps and Celene felt a hand on her dress. She looked down to see Jenara attempting to hold up the gown where the dagger had sliced through. Her corset showed underneath and the heavy dress pulled downward on one side.

“Leave it,” she commanded softly to the elf. “Let them see they could not even break my undergarments.”

Jenara blushed but nodded and they headed down the steps without incident. Nobles and common folk alike bowed and murmured their praise as she passed. She caught small comments about the rip in her dress and the blood on her face and kept her face stern. The owner was sobbing near the door, the Game forgotten as she was certain she was to be executed. Celene placed a hand on her shoulder and felt the woman flinch beneath her touch. Her makeup was smeared and dripped off of her chin to stain her gown.

“Worry not, Madame,” she said softly. “The culprits have already been apprehended. And as the saying goes, the third time’s the charm.”

The owner looked up at her with red, tear stained eyes and Celene gave a sincere smile. The woman tried to speak but she could only sob again, nodding her head and bowing profusely to the Empress as she walked out of the theater. When they were finally behind the closed door of the carriage, the group allowed themselves to relax. Adele sat on the opposite side of Celene, who allowed Jenara to sit next to her on account of Adele’s wound. The chevalier was doing a good job of keeping the mess contained. Though she did not look pained, her face was tense beneath the mask.

Celene lifted a sculpted eyebrow. “Perhaps the marquise is right. Perhaps you do value your honor over the life of your Empress.”

Adele looked up, allowing the shock to seep into her expression. Then she bowed her head deeply. “No, your majesty, never. I…it is difficult to stand back as your life is endangered.”

“You did it on my order, my champion. Plus, you did save my life twice tonight, did you not?”

Adele nodded and Celene had half a mind to tell her about the time she saved her prior champion from the jaws of a varterral. But she thought better of it. They weren’t likely to believe her anyway. She turned to face Jenara who had kept a stony silence throughout the ordeal.

“Are you injured?” she asked.

Jenara shook her head, seemingly lost in thought and the Empress thought it best to leave her be.

 

* * *

 

Briala was waiting for Celene in her bedchambers when the Empress entered. She rose off of the bed as Celene saw her, gestured for Jenara to return later, and then stepped inside. Briala swallowed as the Empress shut the door behind her, noting the large gash in her dress. Other than that Celene looked pristine, not a strand of hair out of place. She stood tall and commanding, and Briala could tell by her eyes that the night had gone in her favor. A wave of relief washed over her and she stepped near the Empress.

“Yes?” Celene asked politely as she removed the diadem from her head.

She still treated Briala with a strange sort of hesitancy. Briala supposed she couldn’t fault her for that. She had sent her agents, along with Celene’s, out during the night to apprehend and persuade the students to confess to their crimes. Not used to torture of any kind, they confessed quickly and the matter was certain to be the topic of the court tomorrow. It also ensured that no one could claim the assault was staged on Celene’s part to make her seem powerful.

“I trust the night went well?” Briala asked, moving behind Celene to undo her hair.

“As good as can be expected.”

Celene sighed as her hair fell about her shoulders and lifted her hands to run her fingers through her scalp, massaging the tension away. She turned and at their closeness Briala saw the flecks of blood on the Empress’ cheek and chin. Her brow furrowed and she reached up without thinking, taking Celene’s chin in her hand. She had seen Celene in far worse condition. Bloodied, unconscious, bruised and ripped, but the severity of her injuries didn’t seem to make the ache in her chest any softer. Her thumb ran across the blood and Celene smiled reassuringly, placing her hand over Briala’s.

“It’s not mine.”

Briala exhaled in relief but her chest still ached. She had followed Celene’s orders and not tagged along to the theater. A part of her had wanted to ignore Celene’s request and go anyway, to hide in the shadows and make sure that everything went smoothly. But the more she thought about it, the more she knew she would ruin it. She couldn’t shake the fact that Celene could die that night, and there would still be so much between them. That thought would have caused her to step in and her presence most certainly would have been noticed. And in the distraction Celene might have been killed anyway.

But now the Empress was before her, beautiful and painted and bloodied. And Briala had to leave her in two days. Celene noted the slight tension in Briala’s neck before the elf stepped closer. Her arms wrapped around Celene, head resting on her shoulder. Celene stilled for a moment beneath her touch. Then, slowly, Briala felt the Empress’ arms encircle her. Briala could always feel the strength of Celene’s arms when they embraced and this time was no different. Her arms were warm and taut and always locked Briala into her in a way the elf loved. Celene smelled of rosewater and commoners and sneak powder and she squeezed Briala reassuringly. Briala felt her lips against her hair for just the briefest of moments.

“I’m fine, Bria,” she murmured.

Briala nodded against her shoulder and pulled away, turning Celene around to undo the buttons on her dress. She undressed Celene in silence, thankful for the familiar actions to keep her mind off of her thoughts. She unclasped Celene’s necklace from the back and the Empress caught it, moving away for a moment to return it to her jewelry box. When Celene was left in just her chemise, she headed over to the basin to wash the makeup off her face as Briala fetched a nightgown.

“You seem troubled,” Celene offered as she dried her face and arms.

Briala took her time selecting a nightgown to hide the flush in her cheeks. This might as well have been another night before Halamshiral, but how could that be? How could she be so infuriated with Celene in one moment and enraptured the next? Falling into her arms felt like weakness, but Celene’s arms made her strong.

“Bria?” Celene asked again, much closer now.

Briala turned to find the Empress next to her. Her face was free of blood and makeup and a few locks of hair around her face were dripping wet. Briala gripped the nightgown tightly, extending it awkwardly to Celene. Celene took it with a curious smile and put it on. It didn’t make her any less distracting. She was not without her many faults. No amount of beauty could bring her parents back. No amount of kindness towards elves could bring back Halamshiral.

There was a polite knock on the door. Celene turned quickly and headed towards it. Jenara had returned, and Celene kindly sent her away for the night, asking the guards for her to be undisturbed. She shut the door again and turned to face the elf.

“You seem bothered by tonight’s events,” she said as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” Briala answered, accepting Celene’s invitation to sit next to her.

“That’s not all that troubles you.”

Briala gripped the sheets of the bed tightly. Celene kept her distance, watching politely but never daring to make a move towards her.

“Does it not seem absurd?” the elf asked finally, her voice low. “You killed my parents, would have killed me had I not hid, burned my people, hesitated with the varterral, aimed a knife at my back when I locked the Eluvians…and yet I return to you.”

Celene lowered her head. All of those things were true. They were just one side of the story, but did Celene’s story matter? Would Briala want to hear it? Briala was fire, burning, attacking, thriving on the injustice done to her. She was also water, patient and persevering and forgiving when need be. Was Celene a dead oak in her path or a stone smoothed by her touch?

“You allowed me to walk into Gaspard’s trap,” she said finally, keeping any accusation out of her tone. “You lengthened the civil war and therefore lengthened threats against my life. You knew of an assassination attempt at the Summer Ball and allowed it to play out. And yet I long for you to return to me.”

Briala shook her head softly. She was still angry. In some ways she would always still be angry. But was angry _who_ she wanted to be? It had been her confidant for some time. Anger at the injustice towards her people, towards Celene. It fueled her, spurred her to carry on even when her legs shook beneath the weight of the world. But now that she was where she wanted to be, anger could provide nothing. Nothing but backlash and distance. She tried to think back to a happier time, before her parents’ murder. She could remember events but not so much herself in them.

“I don’t know if my take on these events matters to you,” Celene said quietly, “but it occurs to me now that though I tried my best to protect you from the Game, ultimately, you were my main pawn.” She sighed, her shoulders sinking at the revelation. No one could be kept from the Game, and Celene had lost by thinking that she could. To be Empress, to rule Orlais as it needed, the pawn must be sacrificed.

“Perhaps it is best if…you don’t return to me. Perhaps living outside of Val Royeaux will give you clarity in these matters, without me to distract you.”

Briala knew that Celene was right. She had felt better when she was in the Dales. She was kind and open, able to trust. But she was also empty. There was a piece of her that had been taken by Celene and though the Empress tried to give it back, it didn’t seem to fit like it used to.

“Is that it, then?” Briala asked, turning to meet Celene’s eyes. “Is this our final play?”

Though Celene fought to remain neutral, Briala could see the tremor in her cheek and the tension in her jaw. Then the Empress smiled sadly and gave a shrug.

“I can no more command you than I can the Waking Sea. Nor do I want to. But…for you to be free, Briala, perhaps it must.”

“I leave in two days.”

Celene thought to tell her that her heart would ache with every beat lived without her, but decided against it. Any words of love or longing could be seen as manipulation, a play in the Game. So she simply nodded, deciding polite cordiality was best.

“We will still correspond, of course. The Empire is committed to the betterment of the elves.”

Briala fought back the ball of retaliation in her throat. Celene could move so effortlessly from woman to Empress. It still sometimes startled her. But Celene was gone, eyes clouded over in seriousness, looking much like the statue in her honor. Eyes set and determined, urging Orlais into a new age of culture and refinement whether they liked it or not. She had a job to do. Briala had a job to do. And it seemed that nothing could get in the way of that. Love had tried, but it, too, seemed to fail.

Briala stood, the Empress following suit, and made her way to the passageway. She pulled the mirror aside and gave Celene one last, lingering look. Celene would not sway, and neither could Briala. Silently the elf slipped through the mirror and closed it behind her, Celene looking away when her eyes fell upon her reflection.


	6. Chapter 6

Briala allowed herself to cry up until she reached the end of the passageway. Then she wiped her eyes, lifted her head, and made her way to her chambers. This was not how she hoped things would go. Granted, she and Celene hadn’t killed each other, and the terms could be considered amicable, if one was generous. But a part of her, likely the part influenced by Celene, had hoped that she and the Empress could have made it work.

She had thought about her life after Celene’s death. She was Empress, after all, subject to assassination attempts, war, betrayal, and it would have been foolish for her not to consider how she would struggle, rise up, and live on. But to live alongside Celene without the hope of reconciliation was new. She paused, hand half raised to open the door to her chambers. She could still go back. Defy Celene as she always did and sneak back into her room. The Empress had a hard enough time saying no once and she would not be able to do it again. But that would only make things better for Briala. Celene still had a hole in the sky and the threat of war on her shoulders. And she could send for remedies to aid her sleep.

Briala pushed open the door and took a quick look around, noting that everything was in its proper place. She undressed and washed her face and climbed into bed. The elf doubted that she would be able to sleep tonight, but she definitely didn’t wish to be up any longer. Trying to ignore the pain in her chest and the pressure in her eyes, Briala willed herself to sleep.

“I wondered when I’d get through to you,  _da’len_.”

Briala opened her eyes and reached for the knife beneath her pillow. She felt only the morning dew of grass. She blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting to the warm sun above, and looked around. She was no longer in the Royal Palace in Val Royeaux, but some lush, green field. Flowers bloomed around her and though she couldn’t see it, there was a babbling brook nearby. Familiarity surrounded her and she looked off to her right. Off in the distance was a large chateau. The Valmont family’s summer estate. She had been here many times with Celene when they were girls, picking flowers from these very fields. For a moment she lost herself and looked around to see if she could find Celene riding around on her childhood mare, but the thought soon changed to their recent talk, and she heard a disappointed hum behind her.

“Whatever that thought was, it was not pleasant. Try to warn me before delving into such things, would you?”

Felassan stood before her, his staff slung over his back, same strange smile tugging at his lips. Briala looked around and raised her eyebrow at him.

“You’ve never brought me into the Fade before.”

“It’s good to see you, too. I’m well, thanks for asking.”

Briala smiled. “It  _is_  good to see you. My spies reported seeing you heading west from Ferelden.”

“Yes, caught up in a bit of business involving a massive rift in the sky of all things. Humans, always tampering where they ought not.”

“You were at the Conclave?”

Felassan grinned. “In a manner of speaking.” He stopped to look around the field and pressed his feet into the ground. “This is a nice place. Must be a fine memory.”

“Celene’s summer home.”

“I wasn’t aware homes had seasons.”

“Did you not create this?” Briala asked, gesturing to the world around her. As she did she noticed that she was no longer in her nightgown but in the drakeskin armor Celene had given her. It looked new and clean, without the gashes from the varterral across it. She gave a few quick bounces, testing the leather. It fit her perfectly and she felt a spur of confidence.

“The memories are yours,” Felassan answered. “I merely… chose from what you offered. Your memories have feelings attached to them, so I picked something pleasant, in case our meeting shocked you. But it seems nothing can shock you anymore.”

Briala chuckled softly. “Well, we have been through quite the ordeals, have we not?”

“I suppose we have.” He began to walk in the direction of the chateau, Briala following. “I have heard promising stories from the Dales.”

“My supply lines are efficient and there are many who follow my cause.” She gave him a sideways glance. “And my spy network seems to be quite capable, given that they found you.”

“ _Please._  I  _let_  them see me, _da’len_ ,” Felassan answered with a proud puff of his chest. “You’ve done good work. And is your Empress proud?” He gave a shudder before Briala could answer and shook his head. “There’s that feeling again. Don’t tell me the pretty human broke another promise.”

“What are you talking about? What are you feeling?” Briala asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

 “We’re in your dreams. Your thoughts are the mold for this part of the Fade. Some things, like this field we’re in,” he paused to pick up a flower and sniff it, “are pleasant. Other things, say, like that…”

He pointed to the distance and Briala squinted. She saw a young Celene in her riding gear racing her white mare around and over makeshift obstacles. Her hair was in a loose braid and it slapped rhythmically against her back, her smile wide, hands relaxed on the reins. Though Briala was not a fan of horses herself, she always loved to watch Celene ride. Mostly because during her abrupt childhood it was one of the few things that could make the girl smile. It hurt Briala to see and when she blinked, Celene and her horse had gone.

“Those are most unpleasant,” Felassan finished. His  _vallaslin_  flexed around his face as he looked at her sympathetically.

Unsure if she could handle talking about Celene so soon after their parting, Briala adjusted the sleeves of her armor. Truthfully, Felassan probably didn’t care about her romance with Celene. He rarely cared about such trifles.

“I got your warning,” she said finally, turning to face him. “If you’re in Val Royeaux, why not meet in person?”

Felassan chuckled. “Who said I was in Val Royeaux? Besides, I wanted to check in and see how you were doing.”

“Then where are you?”

“Can’t tell you. It would ruin my mysterious identity.” He paused to waggle his eyebrows. “So, the Eluvians have proven useful to you, then?”

“I control a large portion, yes,” Briala answered, her hand absently sliding to where her ruby would be if she were awake. “If you’re not in Val Royeaux, who warned me of Celene’s—the threat?”

Felassan noted her hand and shook his head again patronizingly. “You think you’re the only one who has a network of dutiful followers at their disposal? Pfft.”

Briala rolled her eyes before narrowing them on Felassan again. “Why did you send a warning to begin with? You’ve never cared one way or the other about Celene.”

“But I care about you,  _da’len_ , and subsequently, those who are dear to you. It’s a tragic fault of compassion. I’ve tried to get rid of it with copious amounts of drinking and slamming my head into a wall, but it yet remains.”

Briala smiled but even Felassan could tell it was forced. They reached the edge of the chateau and he marveled at it for a moment before hopping onto the ledge of a fence. He swung his feet out like a child and tried to wiggle the grass and dirt free from his toes. Briala watched him for a few moments as she scratched idly at a notch in the fence.

“Well, you need not concern yourself with her any longer.”

“Trouble in paradise,” he teased.

“I’m leaving for the Dales in a few days, and Celene is heading to Jader. We will speak only on diplomacy from now on.”

“Jader? What’s in Jader? She’s not fleeing again, is she?”

“Quite the contrary. She’s hoping to gain peaceful ground with Anora.”

“A lover scorned?

“The Queen of Ferelden.”

“Ah. That seems slightly more pressing, albeit less interesting. Why aren’t you going?”

Briala eyed him strangely. “Why would I go?”

Felassan shrugged, hopping off the fence to stretch exuberantly. “Well, I am but a simple elf of the woods,” he began with a grunt as his back cracked, “but I would think that visiting other alienages while simultaneously getting the chance to speak with another human leader would be good for your cause. But what do I know.”

Briala already had supply lines set up near Jader, but he made a good point about Anora. Whether the Queen would actually listen her was another matter entirely, but Celene could at least get them in the same room together. Anora might even be more open to a discussion if meant better peace talks between Orlais and Ferelden. She could imply to the Queen that a good word from Briala would ease things over with Celene. Briala chuckled softly to herself. Not even into the next day and she was already using the Empress again. But Felassan was right. The opportunity could not be squandered, especially since Celene was unlikely to maintain her lenient attitude towards her as time wore on.

“You make a good point,  _hahren_ ,” she said finally, ignoring the smug look that graced his features.

“I always do. You’re going to Jader then?”

“I will find a way.”

“That’s good. Maybe I will see you there. Really see you. Not dream see you. Speaking of, you’ll likely be tired in the morning. Sorry about that. Good luck, Briala. I look forward to seeing you again.”

He leaned over and she felt his lips against her forehead. She closed her eyes and when she opened them, dawn was breaking through the windows of her room at the Royal Palace. She rose, feeling indeed as if she had been up all night, and hurried to get dressed. Celene would likely still be alone in her chambers at this hour, giving them precious time to talk. Slipping out the door, Briala made her way to the passageway, as always keeping an eye out for anyone who might see. There was little time. Her things would be packed today and she would no doubt be expected to leave tomorrow. Celene would bid her farewell, as she did with every visitor, but it was better to get it resolved as soon as possible. She reached the end of the passageway and listened for a moment. Hearing nothing, Briala placed her hands on the mirror and tried to shift it to the side.

It wouldn’t budge. Briala tried once more but the normally smooth sliding glass held firm. It must have been wedged somehow. She took a step back from the mirror, her excitement draining and rational thought taking its place. This way was unwelcome to her now. She should have known that. Briala reached out once more and dragged her hand down the mirror one last time before turning and heading out of the passageway.

By the time she’d found a servant to lead her to Celene she’d regained control of herself. Her mask was set in place and her face sat stoic behind it. Word had traveled fast among the palace about Celene’s eventful night at the theater, along with the Marquise’s involvement in it and the staff deduced that they should not stand in the way of the Marquise needing to see the Empress out of necessity. Celene was in the reading room and as Jenara answered the door, her ear twitched at the sight of the Marquise.

She nodded to Briala, then shut the door for a moment, turning to face the Empress, who had risen her head from some long forgotten tome concerning blights.

“Marquise Briala of the Dales wishes to see you, majesty,” Jenara said simply, hand lingering on the door as if she already knew Celene’s answer.

Celene marked the page and then closed the tome, giving a nod to Jenara. Though her posture was always perfect when she was in public, Celene sat just a bit straighter, feeling her face fall to a natural expression under her mask. She hadn’t expected Briala to see her again. She half expected the elf would leave early without a traditional farewell from the Empress. But such was her mistake for making any assumptions about Briala.

She strode in tall and curtsied dutifully, Celene giving a formal nod. She could see that sleep still hung around her eyes and felt a pang of sympathy. Celene hadn’t slept any last night either.

“Your majesty,” Briala said as she rose, aware that Jenara was still in the room. “I humbly request to accompany you to Jader.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Celene saw Jenara’s ear twitch, the elf dipping her head just a bit more. The request had surprised her, too, but not nearly as noticeably. She reached for her teacup to buy herself more time, lifting her eyebrows to Jenara to indicate it would need refilling.

“For what reason should you need to go to Jader?” she asked simply after she sipped, placing the cup into Jenara’s waiting hands. “Particularly with  _my_  royal escort?”

From title to title, it was a fair question, asked in a polite manner. But the question seemed to sting them both. Briala swallowed and hot tea was placed in the Empress’ hands.

“I wish to speak with Queen Anora.”

“So you wish to interrupt my peace talks with the Queen. You should make your own appointment with her, Marquise. It does not do to ride on the Empress’ train.”

“Your majesty, you know she would not relent to speak to me,” Briala tried, keeping her voice level. The Empress, not Celene, sat before her, doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing. They were supposed to speak only of diplomacy now, and Celene had more practice in such matters. But Celene was human, a kind human at that, and she could get her to see reason.

“I would not presume to know what Queen Anora would do, but this problem of yours has yet to concern me.”

Briala sighed in what looked like obvious defeat and Celene felt her guard go up. An expert at the Game, Briala’s sigh could be considered a gaff, and she did not trust it. Though she watched as the elf turned her head just slightly in Jenara’s direction, her eyes finding Celene’s and staring hard. Celene took another sip of tea. Briala had no real reason be considered untrustworthy. Last night was unfortunate for both of them but she did not believe the elf would be so distraught as to ruin their alliance over it. Indeed, though tired, Briala still looked exceedingly capable. And the last time she had stormed in unannounced she had saved her life, again.

Celene lifted a hand to Jenara and they were silent as the elf bowed and left the room. She gestured for Briala to have a seat but the elf shook her head.

“I saw Felassan last night,” she said finally, her eyes dropping to the floor for just a moment. She heard the sound of the teacup being set back on its saucer.

“Where?”

“In the Fade.”

Celene’s brow creased in concern. “You were never one to take your dreams seriously.”

“It wasn’t a dream. He’s a  _somniari_. You recall when we spoke about  _Uthenera_  in the elven—

“I am familiar with the term,” Celene said, eyes falling to the tome in front of her for the briefest of moments. “I was not aware he was one.”

“He is, and he visited me in the Fade last night.”

“Is there something wrong?”

Briala hesitated. Truthfully, no, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong. But their conversation had implied that her mentor was near Jader and she’d no sooner miss an opportunity to speak with him than she would the Queen. But Celene didn’t necessarily need to know that.

“He didn’t say. But he implied that he was near Jader.”

“Has he ever spoken to you from the Fade before?”

Briala shook her head and Celene stood, fingers idly running down the long chain of her necklace. Felassan had been a much needed ally when they were in a pinch. But he was still Dalish, and a mage, and she never got around to fully trusting him, nor he her.

“I don’t like it,” she said finally, hands dropping to her side. “Does this not seem suspicious to you? If he wants you to go to Jader, it might be better that you stay away.”

“If he wants me to go to Jader, that’s where I should go. Regardless of his intent.”

“Can he maneuver your Eluvians?”

Briala shook her head, reminiscent of the time she’d tried to tell him the passphrase for the Eluvians, only for him to silence her.

“Could he be after that?”

“There is no need. I would tell him if he asked.”

Celene bristled just slightly at that, but it was enough for Briala to notice. She couldn’t blame the Empress. The Eluvians were supposed to be hers, after all. She would have made good use of them, no doubt, but Briala knew her intentions were better. She was not bogged down by politics and decorum and her Eluvians had strengthened city elves all throughout Orlais. Celene could bristle all she wanted on this matter.

“Felassan has been my mentor since I was a girl,” she said finally, finding Celene’s eyes. “He does not concern himself with politics and he cares for me. I trust him.”

Celene trusted Briala, but she knew better than anyone how the heart could easily be led astray. She still did not like the sound of someone visiting Briala in her mind where her most precious secrets were kept. And he would have to be an extremely powerful mage to be able to enter someone else’s Fade, which was also concerning. However, Briala was going to go to Jader with or without Celene’s approval. She may as well have the protection of the Empire behind her. Though she still feared how this would alter her talks with Anora, Celene allowed herself nod.

“Very well, Marquise. We leave in a week’s time,” she said with a resigned sigh. She saw Briala smile and that almost made it better.

“Thank you, your radiance. May I continue to stay as a guest of the Royal Palace in that time?”

“You may.”

“Your generosity rivals that of Andraste,” Briala said, curtsying again and backing out of the room.

With the door closed behind her, Briala let out a sigh. She didn’t fault Celene for being suspicious but Celene didn’t know Felassan as she did. Besides, she had a sneaking suspicion that Queen Anora was going to be the highlight of their trip, not Briala’s aging mentor.

Celene sighed in the brief time between Briala’s leaving and Jenara’s return. She was tired and her head ached, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t look forward to more time with the Marquise, even if it consisted only of the same give and take she tolerated from everyone else. 


	7. Chapter 7

“Does it hurt?”

The question was asked so softly Adele wondered for a moment if she’d actually heard it. Then she looked down at the elf by her side and noted that those deep blue eyes were fixated on her arm. Per the Empress’ command, Adele had gone to a healer once they returned from the theater. The wound wasn’t deep, as she had known, and they had stitched it up and applied a salve. The bandage could not be seen underneath clothes and for that the chevalier was grateful. She looked around for a moment, noting that they had slowed their pace on a thinly populated street.

“Do not think of it,” she said softly to Jenara, noting the twitch of her ear. “What?”

Large eyes lifted up to meet hers and even through the mask Adele could see Jenara’s brow was furrowed in confusion. “Pardon, my lady?”

“Your ear twitched,” Adele said, grinning as the ear fluttered just slightly again.

“A nervous tick,” Jenara answered ashamedly. “Her majesty has asked that I work to improve it.”

“It’s quite the dangerous tell,” Adele agreed. “But I don’t think it’s from nerves. I think it’s from lying.”

Jenara let out a startled gasp and hurt began to seep into her eyes. “I…I do not lie, my lady.”

“Everyone lies, Jenara. Some of us just have the luxury of stationary ears.”

Adele reached out and traced her finger along the edge of Jenara’s ear. The elf trembled slightly beneath her touch, her weekly purchases spilling from her hands and dropping to the floor. She dropped right along with them, scurrying to pick them up. Adele crouched down next to her, taking her time and smoothing the packages before placing them in Jenara’s shaking arms. The elf refused to meet her eyes, taking care not to touch the chevalier as she took the packages from her. Adela picked up a few for herself to ease Jenara’s burden but the elf was quick to take them from her hands.

“Jenara,” Adele murmured, watching as the elf slowed her movements, her shoulders falling in a great sigh.

She traced the ribbon on one of the packages slowly, her lips parting and closing as if trying to speak. Adele placed a single finger under her chin and lifted Jenara’s head to meet her eyes. Jenara lifted her head but pulled away from Adele’s gentle touch to look around the street. There were only a few figures visible and they were too far away to see or hear anything. But that didn’t ease her racing heart any less.

“What are you so afraid of?” Adele asked, her voice raised slightly in wonder.

Jenara swallowed, her tongue sneaking out to wet her lips. Adele could see the fear. The fear was always obvious in Jenara. But there was something to the fluidity of her movements that implied a calm. For a moment Adele wondered if her skittish nature was an act. But she decided against it. Jenara  _was_  afraid, all the time. But it didn’t consume her entirely. She was still clever enough to aid her Empress, confident enough to execute her wishes and play the Game. And willful enough to get what she wanted. Adele smiled for a moment, imagining how this situation would change if they were alone in a storage room, behind the safety of the palace walls.

“Filthy knife-ear!”

Jenara shuddered, her head dipping instinctively lower as if to protect herself from a blow. Adele stood, hand on her sword, and stepped in front of Jenara, searching for the source of the slur. She saw them at the end of the street, which had deserted. Three of them were standing and another cowered upon the ground. Three yellow feathers glinted in the sunlight and Adele’s eyes narrowed. She made to take off only to feel a steely grip on her arm. Fingers dug into her still healing wound and Adele grit her teeth as she looked down at Jenara.

“Let’s turn around,” she urged, eyes defiant.

The men laughed and Jenara flinched as another slur crossed their ears. Adele looked at her for a moment more before she shook her hand off and made her way over to the chevaliers. They paid her no mind as she approached, content to kick at their target. Adele did not recognize the elf beneath their boots, but she saw the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, the rip in his shirt, and the fear in his eyes as he saw another chevalier approach.

Adele grabbed the first shoulder she came to, throwing the chevalier off balance and sending him stumbling to the curb. The other two stopped and brought their hands to their swords, only to relax at the sight of her. Then they laughed, even the one on the ground. Adele recognized them and forced her expression to remain stoic beneath the mask.

“Ser Adele,” one of them greeted. “Celene’s new Champion. Quite the achievement,” one of them said, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched her step between them and the elf.

“We were just keeping the peace,” said another. “As are you, I’m sure.”

It was a warning. But Adele held her ground. She could hear the elf behind her, shuffling as he tried to back away. The streets remained deserted and her mask blocked any view of Jenara. She could only hope the elf was keeping her distance. She knew she was better with her sword than these louts, but they were still chevaliers. She’d have to time everything perfectly. Allowing herself to smile, Adele gestured behind her to the man on the ground.

“Such a task hardly seems fitting of chevaliers,” she commented lightly.

“You question our commitment to our cause?” the one asked as he stood from the gutter, hand going back to his sword. Bernard was his name.

“I question how beating someone who is defenseless upholds chevalier honor.”

“Adele,” another cautioned, placing his hand out. “You know how things are. Let us be on our way.”

“How things are is not how they have to be,” she answered, drawing her sword. “I am sworn to protect the people of Orlais as much as my Empress.”

There was a flash of red in her peripheral, and Jenara was suddenly by her side, tugging at her sleeve.

“My lady,” she urged with a bowed head. “We must not delay from the Empress.”

“Quiet, you!” Bernard shouted, Jenara cowering again. “If the  _champion_  wants a duel, she shall have one. No doubt she’s trying to make up for her failure.” He drew his sword and assumed the ready position, smiling wide.

Adele placed a hand on Jenara’s shoulder, nudging her gently. The elf took the hint and scurried a few paces back, head still lowered. Then she pulled out her blade and flashed a smile of her own. The fury that had been coiling in her stomach was finally ready to strike. Bernard moved first, a simple test of his adversary’s skill, and she easily countered it, providing a test of her own. He countered, though not quite as gracefully as he could have. The other two chevaliers stood to the side, faces impassive as they watched the duel before them.

“Will this remedy your pride, chevalier?” Bernard asked in between strikes. “The Empress had to fend for herself at the Grande Royeaux. You couldn’t even handle a bard.”

Adele lunged forward, her sword sliding against Bernard’s and he pushed her back. “I’m surprised the Empress didn’t kill you right then for failing her. It’s unlikely you could have defended yourself against her anyway. After all,  _she_  killed  _her_  attacker.”

Bernard’s first mistake was to frighten Jenara. His second mistake was his cockiness. Adele planted her feet and readied herself for his attack. As she suspected, he intended to knock her off balance with her next move. She parried at the last moment, bringing her head forward to slam against Bernard’s forehead. She felt her mask crack from the force and moment later it fell from her eyes as Bernard returned to the gutter. She kicked his sword away and aimed her own blade at his throat. Bernard lifted his hands in the air.

“I yield.”

Adele did not. She remained for just a moment, sword poised and ready to strike. Bernard’s face fell, his eyes darting to his comrades, who began to step forward. Then there was another tug on her arm. Adele could see her red hair in her peripheral and she closed her eyes, lowering her sword. Bernard got to his feet on his own time, shrugging his shoulders as he eyed the champion.

“Feel better?” he asked before the other chevaliers turned him away. None of them looked back as they made their way down the alley. Their sounds of laughter could be heard before they reached the next block.

Adele sheathed her sword, allowing the pervasive, small tug on her sleeve to lead her down the street and back to the palace. Her mind was swimming with various thoughts of shame, guilt, and rage. She barely noticed the people they passed on the street, or the strange glances the servants gave her as she came through their entrance. Her thoughts only cleared when the tugging stopped, and she blinked a few times, looking around to find herself in an empty kitchen stock room. Potatoes and carrots and all sorts of vegetables lined the walls in sacks and boxes. The room smelt of earth and it eased some of the tension in her shoulders.

There was a tug on her sleeve and Adele looked down to see Jenara rolling up the sleeve of her injured arm. Though she didn’t recall taking a blow or feeling pain, there was fresh blood seeping through her wrappings. Jenara swiftly undid the bindings and Adele noticed that her hands weren’t shaking, nor was her breathing uneven. In fact, she seemed completely calm, which was bizarre, given the circumstances.

She clicked her tongue as the wrapping came away. “You’ve torn your stitches,” she said with an annoyed sigh, fetching a cloth from a nearby table and dabbing at the wound.

Adele felt her cool fingers on her skin, moving efficiently. It was hot in the storage room and she leaned back against the wall, keeping her arm extended. She watched Jenara tend to her wound, noting the precise measures in which she worked, her eyes never leaving the wound.

“You’re angry,” she said finally.

Jenara’s ear moved, but it was not the twitch Adele was used to. Rather, it was a fluid motion, one that signified recognition instead of lying maybe.

“You risk yourself,” she said simply. Her voice was even and that seemed to make her anger all the more apparent.

“He deserved to be punished.”

“By you?”

“Who else? I’m sworn to protect the people of Orlais.”

Jenara scoffed and looked up to meet Adele’s eyes with a wry smile. “And where is the man you protected?” She shook her head as Adele’s expression blanked. “You do not recall. You do not even care.”

“Of course I care.”

“For your wounded pride, maybe.”

Adele grimaced, pulling her arm away from the elf’s hands. “You recall what happened to the last man who mocked me.”

Jenara’s eyes widened just slightly in surprise and Adele realized all too late that she’d said the wrong thing. The strength that had lingered in Jenara’s eyes began to fade away. The fear was coming back, as was the sadness. There were also traces of disappointment that forced Adele to turn away.

“You would threaten me over this?”

Adele sighed, slamming her fist onto the table. Jenara jumped and the chevalier recoiled her hand slowly. She looked to the elf and watched as Jenara relaxed under her gaze.

“I would never harm you,” she promised, extending her hand to grasp at Jenara’s fingertips.

The elf made no motion to return the gesture but she also didn’t pull away. Instead, she looked away, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It wasn’t hard to see that she had been abused at some point. By whom or how long or for what purpose was unknown, but Adele knew how people accustomed to abuse looked. Like Jenara, they braced themselves for impact, but did not try to deflect or defend the blow. It was futile. Being an elf, it was likely that she had received her fair share of abuse from humans, notably nobles like herself. Adele reached farther and took Jenara’s hand in her grasp.

“Do you know what my family motto is?” she asked quietly, seeing the elf nod in her peripheral.

“Noble before, noble beyond.”

Adele smiled. “It’s a bit odd. Tends to be the source of many a jest. But I’ve always liked it. Do you know how my family came to be?”

Jenara shook her head, concerning herself with the wood of the table.

“There was once a farmer working in a field, reaping. It had been a long, hot day, and he was tired. But he had a good feeling about this day. Something wonderful was coming. Something that would allow him to never work in the fields again. So he kept working, hoping to see it. Day turned to night and all he had to show for this day was an aching back. Finally, he picked up his scythe and began to head down the road towards home. As he was walking he came upon an overturned carriage. Even though he was barely strong enough to walk and hold his scythe, he ran over to the carriage to help.”

Jenara had lifted her head at this point and was watching Adele tell the story with those wide, blue eyes. Her finger traced absently along the ridges of the table while her other hand stayed secured in the chevalier’s.

“Inside the carriage was a woman. The fanciest looking woman he’d ever seen. Her dress alone was worth more money than he could ever hope to see. Also inside the carriage was a man. He brandished a knife and was crawling over to her. The farmer, in his desire to help suddenly found strength. And he picked up his scythe and brought it back down and the man was dead. He helped the woman out of her carriage and checked for other survivors, only to find none. Then he escorted the woman back to his home, where he hosted her until the morn. In the morn he set the woman atop his best horse and walked with her all the way to town. As they neared the town gates, the farmer saw the Royal guard closing off the town. He petitioned the woman to turn back, for to get to close to the Royal guard was certain death. But she pleaded with him to continue on. Knowing that she was in far dire need than he, alone on these dangerous roads, he agreed.

“As they neared the gates the Royal guard called to him, telling him to turn back. The lady pleaded and he continued on. They brought out their swords and called to him once more. Once more the lady pleaded and he continued on. When they were close enough to see the sheen of their reflections in the swords, the lady called out to the guard to yield. And they did.

“The lady was Empress Jeaneve Drakon. She had been ambushed while traveling through the countryside, and the Royal guard was on the hunt for her. To express her gratitude toward the farmer, Empress Jeaneve gave him a title and appointed her the first member of the Empress Arm, her personal guard. The guard would later go on to become the chevaliers. The farmer, was Guillaume Durant.”

Jenara did not seem surprised by the name. In fact she lifted her head just a bit higher, as if she didn’t understand. Adele smiled and gave her hand a squeeze.

“He got that title because he was a good person. My family are where they are today because of his good deeds. That’s where our motto comes from. Being noble is much more than a title. It is a trait. One that several nobles have indeed lost or never had. But I am not like them.”

She took a step closer to Jenara and brought her hand up. Her finger traced beneath the edge of her mask and when she received no response she gently lifted it over Jenara’s head. Though her skin was nearly pale enough to match her makeup, Jenara had a spackling of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Adele smiled at the sight, reaching a finger up to trace the hard line of her elven nose.

Jenara closed her eyes for just a moment at the touch, her brow furrowing in fear. “You risk yourself to restore honor you never lost,” she said finally, feeling Adele’s touch leave her.

The chevalier shook her head, looking off to the side. Jenara had seen her during the attack on the Empress. She had finished the first bard off quickly, and had turned to help Celene. But Celene needed no aid, and she watched as the chevalier stood, fighting every instinct, nails gripping into the wound on her arm to keep from pressing forward. Empress Celene might not know or even care about Adele’s feelings on the matter. But Jenara had seen the change. There was a rigidity to Adele that had not been there before, a ferocity to do things right. It lingered in every look, every touch, and her eyes scanned her surroundings just a bit too sharply, as if she was waiting for a fight. And as it turned out, she was.

“The chevaliers do not matter. Gossip does not matter. All that matters is the Empress. She considers you worthy to be her champion, and more harm would have been done had you interfered. You know that.”

“It is easier said than practiced.”

“We all do what we must for The Empress,” Jenara said quietly, her ear giving its signature twitch.

Adele thought back to that night at the theater. She had been so angry, so absorbed in watching Celene and ensuring her safety that she hadn’t considered the cowering elf in the corner. The elf who had no training, no defense. The elf who was nothing more than a fashion statement by the Empress’ side. She had feared for her life that night, and all Adele had done was think about herself. After making a speech about nobility, it turned out she hadn’t been practicing it at all.

“Jenara,” she said quietly, watching the elf’s eyes rise up to meet hers. “I would not have let them get to you,” she said, watching Jenara’s eyes widen slightly. “I shall make an oath to you now as a chevalier. On my honor, no harm—

Adele’s words were cut off as Jenara stood up on her toes and kissed her. It was quick, barely even a moment, and Jenara was gone before Adele could recover from the shock. Left alone in the storage room, Adele touched a finger to her lips and smiled. 


	8. Chapter 8

Although many would consider that none travelled better than Celene, the Empress begged to disagree. While she acknowledged comfortable seating and protection for long journeys, she also had to make frequent stops to ensure the needs of all of her traveling companions. And it wasn’t like she could just pop in at an inn. Following traitorous Duke Remache’s death his cousin Caralina assumed lordship over the duchy of Lydes. Naturally, she welcomed the Empress with open arms, no doubt to quell any doubts Celene may have had about loyalty to her cousin. They spent a few days there, Celene accepting gifts and attending dinners while Briala attempted to make more high ranking connections.

They passed through Halamshiral quickly, the Empress stopping only to express her gratitude towards Lord Pierre and wish the city a speedy recovery. Celene was no fool. She knew that tensions were still high in Halamshiral, especially towards her. Even with the elven Marquise of the Dales in her company, it was too great a risk to stay longer than necessary. Not stopping in Halamshiral would leave her party fatigued upon their arrival to Jader, but it was out of Celene’s hands. Although her last decision to bypass rest and carry on had resulted in the start of the civil war, Celene knew she had nothing to fear from Lady Seryl. And the Imperial Highway had been free of any sort of danger. Still, as was always the case, she knew she would have to ride with a knot of dread in her stomach until she was safely inside the city. Such was the burden of an Empress.

Ser Adele rode in the carriage with her, occasionally peeking out the window to give Celene an estimate on their arrival. Jenara sat stiffly next to Adele, reading documents per the Empress’ request and handing over ones she thought were pertinent. Her feet were stretched out in front of her, steadying the small cart of tea as they road over bumps or ditches. Briala had been given her own coach by Celene’s order. In fact, she hadn’t seen the Marquise since their last dinner at Lydes, where Briala sat seven seats down from the Empress and never once looked her way.

It was as it should be, no matter how terribly it made her feel. Celene sighed and crumpled a document, tossing it onto the pile that rested beside her. Her head ached from reading while in motion and she pulled back the curtain of the carriage to stare out the window. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Adele give a sideways glance to Jenara who blushed beneath her mask and buried her head further into the papers. Something had changed between them and had indeed become more familiar, but it wasn’t her place to pry. Far be it from her to comment on matters of the heart, but it still hurt to see, as if the two of them were mocking her. Realistically, an elf and a noble, no matter how big or small, had no more chance in the world than she and Briala. But they perhaps still had the luxury of innocence. Celene could only pray it continued to bless them.

When they were near their destination, Adele reached over Jenara and pulled back the opposite curtain of the carriage. Celene saw her eyes widen just slightly, eyes focused on the sky overhead. Jenara, too, peeked out from under the chevalier’s arm, only to quickly bury her head back in the documents, shaking her head in fear. Celene slid over as well and Adele pulled the curtain back farther to allow the Empress her view. Far off in Val Royeaux, the great hole in the sky could be ignored. But here it was massive, a lightning stricken emerald vortex that appeared to be swallowing the sky. Fear eased its way to the forefront of Celene’s mind as images of war and demons and Red Templars filled her thoughts. Anora would have had to see the same on her trip to Jader, and Celene could only hope it was as humbling to the Queen as it was to her, making their peace talks all the easier.

A royal fanfare greeted the Empress as she arrived at the gates of Jader that evening. The trees that lined the road hung heavily with violet and gold ribbons and Celene could make out the sounds of a band long before they reached their destination. Towards the entrance to the city the common folk had gathered to catch a sight of the Empress. They waved and hollered incorrigibly as the massive white carriage passed, murmuring in awe even as the chevaliers pushed them back. It was too risky to peek out of the curtains and give away her position. For even in Jader the Game was always being played. However, the sounds she heard were jovial and despite being weary from travel, the Empress allowed herself to feel just the slightest bit of excitement.

Even with the Waking Sea to the north and the Frostbacks to the south, Jader was a sight to behold. Bright blues and yellows adorned the northern blocks along with lush greenery and flowers that could only grow in such humidity. The southern blocks were rich deep greens and purples that highlighted the mighty mountains behind the ivy covered walls. And both color schemes blended themselves beautifully in the town square. A massive array of boutiques and cafes and merriment brought all the known colors together in the shining silks and gleaming jewelry and other notable items of trade. It was hard to believe that such extravagance could be so close to Ferelden, a kingdom that never veered far from wet dog in terms of sight or smell. Perhaps that proximity was what spurred Lady Seryl to dedicate fifteen years of her life to the beautification of the city. Regardless of her intent, it had worked in her favor, and Jader was widely considered to be one of the many gems Orlais had to offer.

Celene listened as the music and cheering grew fainter and fainter until it seemed only a memory. Then the music was replaced with chirping birds and the sounds of the shore, following by the opening of iron bars. They were nearing the entrance to Lady Seryl's estate. A large and worthy manor, it sat to the north of the city, overlooking the sea, the Frostbacks, Orlais, and Ferelden from its perch upon the hill. In the past, Lady Seryl had designated wings to stay in depending on the season. Her view would face Orlais in the spring, the beach in the winter, the Frostbacks in the summer, and Ferelden in the fall, when she was far too busy with matters of state to look out a window.

Her carriage eased to a stop and Celene reached her hand out automatically. Her mask was placed in her waiting palm and Celene looked down to study it. Given that Queen Anora was her subject of interest, the Empress decided that plainer was better. Her mask was golden, but matte instead of its normal gleaming luster and engravings marked the lines of her cheeks and eyes. She had decided on red yet again for her gown color but this dress was one of her simplest. Gold cross stitched across her bodice and golden beads adorned the gown itself. Across the shoulders and back of the gown rested fur from beast she couldn't care to remember. Though the fur was soft she was unaccustomed to the heat it brought and the way it tickled against the back of her neck. But Ferelden adorned fur more than frivolity and she wanted to ensure Queen Anora was aware of her intentions on peace.

Celene placed her mask. It provided cool relief against her unpainted face. For Anora's sake again, she had chosen to arrive plain faced and she couldn't help but feel like she had forgotten something. She knew it was all in her head, for Jenara would never allow the Empress to be seen in any way other than how she wanted to be seen, but it still felt odd, as if a crucial piece of her armor had been left behind. In a way, perhaps it had, and Celene hoped that she hadn't overreached herself in her attempts to be accommodating.

Adele stepped out of the carriage first and Celene gathered her gown, taking her champion's hand to descend. Lady Seryl and seemingly all of her servants and guards stood waiting in attention. The moment Celene's feet touched the ground they all bowed deeply. Celene noted that all of Lady Seryl's servants appeared to be in new clothes, including the elves, and she hid her smile as she nodded once to her ally.

Lady Seryl was a plump but tall woman nearing her 60th year. She wore an extravagant gown of violet and gold with small lion heads stitched along the hem. Her mask appeared to made of nevarrite and it too shone purple in the sun, golden feathers lining the eyes and adorning the Lady's hair. By her side was an elven boy Celene assumed was her page. He wore a shimmering mask that only slightly paled in comparison to Seryl's and stood tall in his crushed velvet suit. Like his master, he also wore a slight grin at the corner of his mouth and appeared most comfortable in his attire. They both bowed again as Celene neared her.

"Your Imperial Majesty," she greeted in a voice coarse from pipe smoking. "Even the sea knows to calm and the mountains know to bow when you grace us with your presence."

"I imagine so, for not even the mountains nor the sea would dare risk to lose your favor," Celene responded, dipping her head politely to the page.

"This is my manservant, Llowen," Seryl said loud enough for all to hear. "If it pleases her imperial majesty, he will escort you to your chambers and be fine company at that.

Llowen smiled proudly, lifting his head just a bit higher and Celene watched as Seryl patted him dotingly on the shoulder.

"I'm certain he will be most satisfactory," Celene answered, hearing Briala arrive at her side.

Briala stood just behind the Empress but in front of her handmaiden and champion. She too had worn lighter clothing. Her dress clung easily to her, as the elf never wore a corset, and the green silk glistened in the light of the sun. Celene noticed Llowen staring even as he bowed in greeting and allowed herself to smile at his expense, stepping to the side and extending her hand to Briala.

"May I introduce Marquise Briala of the Dales," she said, watching as they all bowed at one another.

"You are most welcome, my lady," Lady Seryl said loudly again before beckoning them into her home.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Briala was able, she left the Empress’ side to retreat to her quarters. If Celene noticed her agitation, she made no showing of it, instead choosing to walk out of earshot with Lady Seryl. Briala sighed as she removed her mask, rubbing the lines it had formed around her eyes. Her trip from Val Royeaux had not exactly been a pleasant one. Certainly, Celene’s carriage was as lovely as a carriage could be, but she had not expected to ride in it alone. In hindsight, she should have, given that the Empress wasted no time in barring off the passageway to her room. While this distance had certainly helped her to focus on other matters, it also brought to light just how much she had missed while dealing with Celene.

She had not completely shirked her duties as Marquise, but there were certainly a lot of missed opportunities to look back on. Celene could manage matters of her heart as well as of her country, having had twenty years of practice. Briala, on the other hand, was still learning. She, unlike Celene, also had to coordinate her supply lines and spy network while tending to the official duties of the Dales. She had hoped to remedy her lack of effort in Halamshiral, where she intended to visit the damage Celene had caused and rally the elves to have hope.

As it turned out, they had breezed through Halamshiral without so much as watering the horses. Briala could somewhat understand Celene’s hesitancy to linger in a place she had tried to destroy. But it also would have been a powerful move for her to try and engage the elves. Though the Empress would never admit she was sorry for what she did, she could express sympathy at what had to be done. And that sympathy coupled with Briala’s influence could have earned several more elves her favor. If Briala had been able to ride with Celene she could have told her that.

Anger tensed in her shoulders. They had only just arrived and already things were not going as planned. But she couldn’t waste any more time on the past like some Dalish fool. Rolling her shoulders, she made her way over to the writing desk. Even though she hadn’t made much of an impression in Halamshiral, she could still try to coordinate with the elves there while the memory of her visit was still fresh in their minds.

 

* * *

 

Because they had arrived so late in the evening, Lady Seryl postponed the grand dinner and dance until the next night. After Celene had refreshed herself, she walked around the gardens with Lady Seryl, Adele following behind as always. Now that they were alone, Seryl was not nearly as procedural as she should have been. She took a deep breath and brought a hand to her chest, pounding it twice.

“That sea air, Celene,” she said with a pleased shake of her head. “It’s kept me alive all these years. Go on, loosen that corset of yours and take a deep breath.”

Celene smiled politely and reached out to touch the petals of a particularly bright flower. She, like any other noble Lady Seryl thought worth her time, had grown used to the woman’s antics. In fact, while she sometimes found Seryl tiresome, she welcomed the moment of relaxation.

“I am fine, Seryl.”

“Really? I wouldn’t be. Mages, Templars, this red lyrium business, Grey Wardens, that  _ghastly_  thing,” she said, flinging a hand towards the sky. It was growing dark and instead of a peaceful blue the earth seemed to be cast in an eerie green glow. “I’d have chopped my own head off long ago. Apologies, your majesty,” she finished after seeing Celene flinch just slightly at the comment.

Celene shook her head and turned her eyes to the sky once more. It was another sight entirely to behold up close. “How have you fared since the Breach?”

“Bhelen fortified Orzammar’s borders and they’ve kept the bulk of the nuisance from coming across the border. My soldiers have handled any stragglers with little problem.”

“And what have you heard from Ferelden?”

Seryl sighed. “They’re still reeling from Haven, the Fifth Blight, us. Anora has done well to mitigate damage and keep calm, but she appears to have overreached by offering sanctuary to the mages.”

“Didn’t they join the Inquisition?”

“Yes, but not after bloody well destroying Redcliffe  _again_. A word of caution during your talks, majesty, Anora means business.”

“As do I, Lady Seryl.”

They moved to sit on a bench, Celene maintaining her posture while Lady Seryl splayed her legs out in front of her and leaned back on her arms.

“I had a feeling you did, what with this carcass lying around your neck,” she said, reaching out to stroke Celene’s fur lined gown. “The things we sacrifice for peace. Do you know she’s brought those filthy dogs with her? Maker, if she wasn’t a Queen I’d—

Ser Adele coughed nearby and both women straightened their posture. They were no longer alone. Word had spread of the Empress being in the garden and so naturally everyone had decided that seeing the flowers under the green glow of the breach was worthwhile. They talked lightly of shallow matters as various lords and ladies began to flit around the garden, attempting to gain the Empress’ attention with loud laughter or a superfluous gesture.

Then, as quickly as they had come, the noises seemed to quiet. Celene noticed the change and looked around, seeing that the nobles’ heads were all turned. In the silence, Celene could make out the clatter of metal boots. A royal guard. She stood easily, giving a side glance to Seryl, who gave a nod of approval at her appearance. Resuming her reigning posture, Celene left the bench and made her way to the end of the garden wall where Anora was approaching.

She hadn’t seen Anora in some time. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a simple but elegant bun and her mask was silver and simple. She wore no makeup underneath her mask, and though not quite as pale as Celene, her skin glowed softly in the faint light. Ferelden did not ascribe to Orlesian fashion, and her dress was similar to Briala’s. It had no broad petticoat and instead hung quite simply off of her hips. Her jacket was tailored tightly to her and was a soft blue with white embroidering. Celene allowed her eyes to follow the silver buttons of the jacket all the way down and then back up. She liked the way it looked, liked the way it seemed to maintain both Anora’s posture and mobility. She also liked the way it held her bust and her eyes lingered for just a moment at the hint of cleavage it teased, making a mental note to inquire about jackets when she returned to Val Royeaux.

Being a guest of the Empress, Anora dipped her head first in respect, Celene following suit.

“Your radiance,” Anora greeted with a polite smile.

“Your majesty,” Celene returned just as politely. “Enjoying the evening?”

Anora lifted her head to examine the breach for a moment before finding Celene again. “I thought it best if we met in a somewhat more intimate setting before the dinner tomorrow.”

Celene kept her face impassive and hummed noncommittally. She hadn’t corresponded face to face with Anora since the Fifth Blight ten years ago when they discussed reparations and the Grey Wardens. They wrote letters and sent diplomats instead, each preferring their own distance from the other. But Anora seemed to be attempting to play the Game, or perhaps succeeding. It was too early to tell. But there was nothing intimate about a garden full of Orlesian nobles and she kept her guard up.

“I have to admit,” Anora began, the murmuring of the crowd quieting around her, “when you first proposed these talks I was rather hesitant. Then I remembered Teagan’s visit to your palace just before the civil war and how you had defended him from Grand Duke Gaspard and spared us potential war.”

It was a test. Celene could see it easily, as could the rest of the nobles around her. Anora was questioning how seriously Celene was taking these talks. The correct option, the only option really, was to admit to a garden full of Orlesians that she had indeed come to the aid of Ferelden and prevented an opportunity for Orlais to reclaim a part of its empire. Celene smiled easily and she could tell that it caught Anora slightly off guard.

“For too long have we been allies in name only. Orlais is committed to preventing the upcoming blight, if that is indeed what it is, and now is the time when words and treaties are put to the test, is it not, your majesty?”

“Indeed, your radiance. Actions will always prevail over words.”

Anora’s face betrayed nothing, and Celene felt a small jolt of excitement along with her growing nerves. She had always considered Anora a worthy ruler and somewhat like herself. They were both women in immense positions of power. And both would sacrifice everything for the betterment of their country. For once it seemed she was on truly equal footing with her adversary, and the thought was exciting, if not unnerving. Anora was not fool enough to truly attempt to weaken her now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get a barb or two in. Even Celene had to admit, she probably deserved them.

“Besides, precedents must be set for something as apocalyptic as this may be. Others will look to us for how we act.” She smiled again and her eyes focused on Celene’s, hardening.

Celene allowed herself to smile. Anora was about to make her play.

“And  _influence_  is not impeded by borders.”

The words rang strangely in Celene’s mind, familiar. She recalled the night of Aeian’s gala, where she had attempted to uplift the elves by putting down Ferelden. How Anora found out about what she said would probably never be known, but Celene wasn’t all that surprised. Spies were everywhere in Val Royeaux. Regardless, Anora had taken her comments seriously, and Celene supposed she couldn’t blame her. She had called them dog lords and had insinuated they weren’t truly running themselves, but were instead being run by Orlais under the guise of independence.

Anora did not wait for Celene to respond. Instead she lifted her hand to one of her guards, who placed his hand to his chest before bringing his fingers to his lips and whistling loudly. The nobles around Celene shuddered at the shrill sound, but neither she nor Anora had moved.

“Allow me to be the first to respond to your words with action. In the name of peace,” Anora said, gesturing behind her. “A gift from Ferelden to the Empress of Orlais.”

There was the loud, unrefined sound of stomping feet, and the Celene could hear from the squeals of disgust of the surrounding nobles that whatever Anora’s gift was, was nearing. Then she heard the sound of a dog panting. The realization seemed to strike Lady Seryl at the same time, who wasted no time in bringing a handkerchief to her nose.

From out behind Anora stepped a black mabari. Standing, it nearly came to Anora’s elbow. Its mouth was open in a pervasive pant and it seemed to eye her cautiously, ears perked in interest. The crowd had begun to mumble and a few nobles, like Lady Seryl, had covered their noses. The dog had no odor that Celene could detect but she still had to fight a grimace at the sight of it. She was not fond of dogs. She detested the little, fluffy things that adorned every noble’s house in Val Royeaux, yapping incessantly until a tray of the finest meats were placed before them. But this was hardly a dog. Rather it was a beast. Some in Val Royeaux kept mabari, considering them some sort of foreign novelty. But even then they stayed at summer estates, far away from high society.

“The mabari is a symbol of our strength, our pride,” Anora continued with her head held high. “They imprint on their masters and are loyal for life. And they only choose those they consider worthy.”

Anora looked down and nodded to the dog. It seemed to understand her for it stepped forward slowly. Celene watched as the dog neared her, keeping her outward appearance calm. It came right in front of her and sat, watching her intently. Celene looked to Anora, unsure of what she was supposed to be doing, but the Queen gave no hints.

“It’s…certainly a formidable beast,” Celene said finally, noting that the dog seemed to raise its head higher as if proud of her words. Taking a guess, Celene extended her hand to the dog in the same manner she would to a suitor.

The dog reached out to her hand, but did not touch her. Instead it sniffed around her hand gently. Then it stood, looked back at Anora, and moved to sit at Celene’s side. Had Celene not been acutely aware of the Queen, she would have missed it. But as the dog sat beside her, Celene caught the corner of Anora’s mouth twitch just slightly. Celene had had to correct that error on herself more times than she could count. It was a suppressed grimace. Whatever the dog was supposed to do, it had backfired in Anora’s eyes. However, in the eyes of Orlais, Anora had still succeeded. The nobles were all watching Celene intently, their eyes drifting from her to the dog. She had accepted that which Orlesians considered to be the butt of all Ferelden jokes. A disgusting, beastly mabari of Ferelden was now owned by the Empress of Orlais. Celene couldn’t tell by the crowd which way the ramifications would lead. But she needed Ferelden. Orlais needed Ferelden more than any of the fool nobles knew. Even as the sky opened above them, they preferred to sneer at the ground.

“Your kindness is most definitely observed,” Celene said finally. “I can only hope to return such a gesture in the future.”

It was a thinly veiled threat, one that was not lost on Anora. And while Anora smiled, Celene could see the same flicker of excitement in her eyes that she felt. The thrill of a challenge, of something new. A chance to lead their countries into victory.

“What’s his name?” she asked, looking down at the dog.

“She’s a bitch, actually,” Anora corrected. The innocence in her voice did not mask the delight in her eyes. “Her name is Prudence.”

Anora had used the Orlesian pronunciation of the name to drive its meaning home. As the nobles gasped and whispered amongst themselves, Anora gave another small bow.

“It was a pleasure seeing you tonight, your radiance. I look forward to our talks.”

Celene dipped her head again. “As do I, your majesty. As do I.”

With the departure of the queen, Celene gestured slightly to Adele, who began to usher the other nobles out of the garden. They seemed pleased to do so, evidently content with the show they had already received. The dog stayed by Celene’s side the entire time, never moving but always watching, similarly to her champion. Once the garden was cleared, Celene sat back down on the bench, Lady Seryl joining her. They were silent for a few moments before Lady Seryl chuckled next to her.

“’Watch it, bitch.’  _Oh, that was good_. She all but said it to the entire court. I like her.” Lady Seryl began to cackle, hand slapping her thigh as Celene rolled her eyes.

“I’m glad my humiliation entertains you.”

“Oh,” Seryl scoffed. “You’re not humiliated. You’re excited. I could see it in your eyes. That woman’s a challenge you’re more than willing to accept.”

Celene looked down at the dog, who had laid down by her side. She still couldn’t smell it, which she supposed was a good sign. But she had no clue what to do with it. Certainly she’d have to keep it until Anora was gone. After that she could perhaps send it to a summer estate. Surely the fact that it was taken care of would please the queen’s spies, would it not?  

“And who gives a piss what these lesser fools think. They know nothing of what it takes to rule.”

Seryl cleared her throat and began to roll up her gown. Celene turned away with another roll of her eyes. Adele caught her eye and flashed an amused smile, to which Celene shrugged. Lady Seryl would not and could not be changed. Rather, she could simply be endured. She ruled well and could play the Game when she wanted, and that had earned her the love of her subjects and ire of her enemies. Most, however, considered her not worth the trouble. Though old, Lady Seryl had made it clear over the years that the only way she was going to die was on her own terms. And sometimes, like tonight, her lack of decorum was welcome.

Lady Seryl produced a flask from beneath her gown and took a hearty sip of it, shaking her head and clearing her throat after swallowing.

“I thought you’d quit,” Celene asked as she eyed the flask.

“I have,” Seryl answered, taking another long swig. “Dragon Piss. Goes down like fire but sure does take the edge off. Want some?” she asked, tilting the flask towards the Empress.

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On whether it was strapped to your inner thigh or your outer.”

Seryl chuckled. “Outer. Outer, your majesty.”

Giving one last glance around the garden, Celene took the flask from Lady Seryl. She took a small sip and, still mired by her own decorum, kept her face stoic as it went down. It burned, just as Lady Seryl had warned, but she welcomed it all the same. 


	9. Chapter 9

“Celene.”

Celene’s teacup stopped halfway to her mouth and she suppressed a small smile. Desiring privacy, she had elected to have her breakfast in the winter wing that faced the ocean. Being fall, most of the nobility were in the Ferelden wing. Anora, no doubt a play on Lady Seryl’s part, was in the spring wing that faced Orlais. Celene was in that wing as well, and the two monarchs had that part of the estate to themselves. However, given Anora’s advantage last night, Celene did not want to risk running into her without her morning tea. Her strategic dining, however, had done nothing to impede the Marquise.

“Marquise,” Celene greeted, gesturing to the food on the table. It was three times what she could ever hope to eat. “Care for some breakfast?”

Briala sat down next to her but made no attempt for the food. They were alone in the small dining hall, save for Jenara, who stood quietly in the corner. Briala’s foot brushed against something soft and she quickly ducked her head under the table, noting the gargantuan mabari that rested near Celene’s feet.

“Celene…?” she asked, watching as the Empress shook her head.

“Don’t ask.”

“A gift from Anora, I assume?”

Celene sighed. “Or do ask. Yes. I believe Anora wanted the dog to think me unworthy. That plan backfired on her, but it also seems to have backfired on me. I now have a…dog. It won’t leave me alone. Nor can I send it away for fear of insulting the queen.”

Briala nodded, eyeing the dog hesitantly before sitting back up. The Empress’ mask sat on the table and her face was unpainted. Her skin looked smooth and she appeared to be maintaining her sleep. And while she seemed to be in a pleasant enough mood, Briala could tell that she was already in her Empress mindset, no doubt gearing herself up for Anora. She watched as Celene reached for a croissant, taking a small bite and eyeing the filling warily. Only nobility could take a bite of a pastry and not spill a single crumb.

“I wish to meet with Queen Anora,” Briala said finally.

Celene set the croissant on her plate and picked up another, breaking it in half and dropping it on her plate when it, too, was filled with chocolate. She had half a mind to feed it to the dog, but it was common knowledge that dogs weren’t meant to have chocolate, and she wasn’t that cruel. She reached for another before meeting Briala’s eyes.

“Yes?”

Briala blinked once, then grabbed a croissant for herself. She pulled it apart and discovered it was filled with a tart lemon cream. One of Celene’s favorites.

“Can you get me in with the queen?”

“I’m certain I’m not the queen’s envoy.”

Briala sighed, watching as Celene pulled open another croissant, revealing a jam. The Empress’ jaw tightened in frustration and she took a sip of her tea, lifting her cup to Jenara. The elf came over and refilled it quickly, spooning just the right amount of honey into it. Briala stood slightly from her chair and took Celene’s plate, switching it with her own. Celene frowned, then examined the croissant. She stuck the tip of her finger into the cream and brought it to her lips. Then she nodded approvingly and took another small bite. Briala may as well have been standing in the corner with Jenara. Suppressing her anger, Briala took a deep breath and switched tactics.

“Will you be discussing the elves with her?” she asked lightly, pretending to pick at the pastry.

“Among several things, I’m sure.”

“I need to know you’ll uphold your end of the deal.”

Celene took her time chewing and Briala could see the muscles tightening in her neck. She straightened in her chair, noting that the dog had risen and come to sit by Celene’s side. It eyed Briala severely, ears alert.

“We have a war to prevent,” Celene said slowly. “And if that fails, a war to fight. Even if the Inquisition manages to close that blighted hole in the sky, there’s still a chantry to restore and a mage and Templar war and Tevinter is all too eager to press upon our weakened state. We will discuss it, Briala, yes, but at this very moment, there  _are_  greater concerns.” 

“I’m aware of that, your majesty,” Briala countered. “But you sit here concerned with allies when there are  _thousands_  of elves who would stand and fight for you. If only you will fight for them first.”

The dog growled next to Celene, then nudged her elbow for approval. The Empress grimaced and waved it away with her hand. The dog obeyed, moving to stand next to Jenara, who cringed as it approached. From the corner of her eye, Briala watched as the dog tilted its head to the side at the small elf, tail wagging. It made to sniff her hand and Jenara quickly pulled it upward. The dog’s tail wagged faster and it took a step forward as Jenara tried to disappear into the corner.

“The worst thing I can think of for the elves is to force them into a war they’ve no desire to be a part of,” Celene said, breaking Briala’s thoughts from the dog. “To fight alongside those who have enslaved them and forced them from their lands. If they were to pick up an Orlesian sword, it would be only to stab a chevalier in the back.”

“You know them so well, do you?”

“About as well as they know me.”

Still calm, Celene took another bite. Cream touched the corner of her lips and she was quick to wipe it away. Beneath the table, Briala tapped her fingers against her thigh. Celene was under no obligation to prioritize her anymore. And she could understand the concern of the breach. She had seen the sky, too. But Celene wasn’t seeing the larger picture. She had the potential to ally with Ferelden  _and_  the elves. Not to mention, if the elves did stand up and fight with Orlais, it would increase their standing and Celene would have no choice but to recognize them as first class citizens.

“Did that apostate teach you any more of the Eluvians?” she asked quietly.

Celene paused at that, her eyebrow raised in Briala’s direction. From the corner of the room Jenara let out a quiet whimper. Both Celene and Briala turned to find the dog had back Jenara into the corner and was sniffing up and down her dress. Though its tail was wagging happily, it appeared unconcerned with Jenara’s terror and placed a sloppy lick over the top of her hand. All three of them cringed at that.

“Beastly thing,” Celene murmured under her breath.

Having no real idea as to what could make the dog back down, Celene called its name and pointed to the opposite corner. Briala suppressed a chuckle as Anora’s play became clear to her and she suddenly wished she had been present when it was presented, if only to see the look on Celene’s face. Prudence, as it was called, turned at the sound of Celene’s voice and trotted over. Celene shook her head and pointed again and Briala watched as the dog’s ears dropped. She moved over to the corner as ordered, but appeared to be pouting the entire time. Celene then turned to Jenara and sent her out of the room to wash her hands.

“Morrigan was…very informative regarding the Eluvians,” Celene answered finally.

“And yet you still could not access them.”

Celene did not bother with an answer, choosing instead to pick at her pastry, and Briala leaned closer to her. She reached out and touched the Empress’ sleeve, stilling her hand.

“This war affects us all, does it not? I have supply lines, trade routes that cannot be accessed by the enemy. I have an army as well.”

Her hand slid up Celene’s sleeve as she moved closer, resting in the crook of her elbow. She could see the Empress’ thoughts racing behind her eyes, calculating as she always did. She hadn’t been convincing enough. Celene still considered her too big of a risk, and Briala knew it before the Empress did. Celene would pull away at any moment with a shake of her head. Briala couldn’t allow that to happen. Though Celene had no trace of pastry on her mouth, Briala dragged her thumb along her bottom lip, placing it in her mouth for a taste afterward.

Celene’s eyes snapped to hers, hesitant, warning, but Briala could see the longing as well. There was no implication in Briala’s action, no promise of reward or reconciliation. And Celene knew that. But that didn’t stop her from remembering all of the gentle touches that Briala used to give her. All of the times that Briala had tasted sweets from her tongue. All the times they had given themselves to each other and for the moment not expecting anything in return. Celene sighed, her shoulders falling. Briala kept her triumph to her herself.

“What is it that you want?”

“Simply plant the seed in Anora’s head. Elves joining the war, elves attending her university. Make clear your intents for us and demand that she follow suit. I’ll find my own way of seeing the queen.”

“And in exchange, you’ll give me the Eluvians.”

“I’ll let you use them. The ruby stays with me, and I lock them at the first sign of betrayal.”

“You swear it?”

“I swear it on the lives of my people.”

Celene could still feel the ghost of Briala’s thumb on her lips. She tried to ignore the elf’s closeness and instead focus on the deal she had offered. Briala continued to trace her fingers absently over her sleeve, watching the Empress intently. Finally, Celene gave a nod of her head.

“I will.”

Briala smiled, gripping Celene’s arm tightly. “Thank you, your majesty. You will not regret this.” Briala then reached down and took the rest of Celene’s croissant before making a quick exit.

Celene stared down at her empty plate, still hungry, and rubbed at her temples. Her tea had gone cold but she finished it anyway before standing. The dog stood with her and Celene resigned herself to getting used to its presence. She placed her mask and squared her shoulders, putting Briala’s touch behind her.

 

* * *

 

Jenara took her time washing her hands, bringing the water from the basin up to her elbows for extra measure. She scrubbed hard, using more of the soap than was proper, her brows furrowed as she rinsed her hands and began again. She was in a small washroom near the kitchen that was designated for the staff. She could hear the noises from the kitchen, the cook screaming at someone, dishes clattering. The smells coming from the kitchen would have been delectable, if the garlic and onions did not entwine with the honey and chocolate and she sniffed as she scrubbed harder, ignoring the redness that began to cover her hands.

“Jenara.”

The elf jumped, water splashing from the basin and onto her gown. She sighed heavily and reached for a towel, drying her hands and wincing as the coarse fabric touched her raw skin.

“Yes, my lady?” she asked, unable to turn and face the chevalier.

Adele smiled softly. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Jenara shook her head. Adele peered over her shoulder and saw her reddened hands. She placed a hand on Jenara’s shoulder and turned her around, taking the elf’s hands in her own. Jenara’s hands were shaking, warm, and still damp as Adele brought them to her lips. Jenara swallowed, ignoring the tingling feeling Adele’s lips sent through her skin and bringing her hands back to bury in her pockets.

“Must have been quite a mess,” Adele offered, her eyes lingering on Jenara’s pocketed hands.

The elf’s ear twitched. “Her majesty’s dog.”

“I see. It likes you, then?”

Jenara shrugged, her eyes dropping to the floor. Adele could sense that she was tense. She had been tense for a while now. At first Adele had blamed her own behavior. She’d been so worried about her reputation that she no doubt held herself more rigidly for a while. But even after she had regained herself, Jenara still seemed ill at ease.

“Well, she’ll have to get in line,” Adele teased easily.

Jenara dipped her head lower and Adele nodded. It was not the answer she was hoping for, but it was the answer she expected. Adele slid the mask from her face and lifted Jenara’s head with the tips of her fingers. Jenara saw the worry that lingered in Adele’s golden eyes and she frowned, unable to hold her gaze.

“Have I misinterpreted, my lady?” Adele asked quietly, her fingers dropping from Jenara’s skin.

With her head tilted and her mask still in place, Adele couldn’t make out what the elf was thinking. Her hands moved slightly in her pockets, as if she was clenching her fists but her ear remained motionless.

“I apologize for my rudeness in the storage room,” Jenara said finally, her voice shaking. “As well as my…b-brazen behavior.”

Adele’s eyebrows rose and she lowered her head, trying to meet the elf’s eyes. “Are you trying to make it like it never happened? Is that what you want? Or do you think you have to?”

When Jenara said nothing Adele reclined against the door. “You’re dreadfully twee,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “It makes it very hard for me to read you.”

Jenara blushed beneath her mask and though it was quite subtle this time, her ear twitched just slightly. Adele reached out and traced her ear again. It was smooth to the touch and shook beneath her finger. Jenara gave a soft hum and lowered her head further. In response, Adele dropped to one knee, looking up at Jenara, who for the first time, was a head taller than her.

“Like that. What does that mean? Do you enjoy it? Does it tickle? Does it make you want to pelt me with figs?”

Jenara smiled just a bit at that.

“Ah, see. I know what that means. That means you’re happy. Even for just a moment.  _That’s_  what I always want to see from you, just in case you were wondering.”

“We…we can’t,” Jenara said with a shake of her head. “The Empress needs us at our best and—

“I’m at my best when I’m with you.”

Jenara frowned beneath her mask, the words making her tremble. “I’m still an elf, Adele. A servant.”

Adele nodded and reached out to touch Jenara’s wrists. She lifted her hands from her pockets and allowed Adele to hold them. The redness seemed to recede and her hands were small and soft. Adele’s were large, bulky and calloused from sword and shield.

“That you are,” she said finally, kissing Jenara’s hand again. “But I am no stranger to a fight.”

Though she still looked afraid, still looked desperately forlorn, Jenara managed a soft smile. It was coy and made her blush appear beneath her mask again, but it was enough for Adele. For now, anyway. She gave Jenara’s hand another squeeze.

“Where did you come from?”

Jenara pointed toward the eastern Ferelden wing, then frowned and quickly pointed towards the southern Frostbacks wing. Her frown deepened and she pointed at Adele.

“Which way is north? I get so turned around here.”

Adele smiled and turned her hand in the right direction. Jenara seemed to think about it for a moment, then nodded assuredly. Still on one knee, Adele chuckled and tilted her head towards the door.

“Shall we tend to our Empress?” she asked, giving Jenara a wink.

The elf looked down at her and licked her lips. Something flickered across her eyes but before Adele could decipher it, Jenara bent down and kissed her once more. It lingered just a moment longer than the first. Long enough for Adele to reach up and trace line of Jenara’s jaw. Then the elf pulled away, placing a finger to Adele’s lips before stepping past her and out the door.

She’d no sooner taken five steps when she heard a voice behind her. It was light, pleasant, and undeniably Antivan.

“Excuse me…Jenara, is it?”

Jenara turned, eyes wide as Josephine Montilyet stepped briskly towards her. She was in a traditional Orlesian gown and a golden mask adorned her eyes. The gold of her gown brought out her lovely dark skin, nearly the same shade as Adele’s, and Jenara swallowed. She had first seen Josephine when the Inquisition had attended the ball in Halamshiral and the ambassador looked quite different from the decadent suit she had worn then. She dipped her head low and bowed as Josephine neared.

“Y-yes, my lady?” she answered.

“You’re her imperial majesty’s handmaiden, correct?”

Before Jenara could answer, there was the sound of a door opening. She looked up to see Josephine turn and smile at Ser Adele as she stepped out of the washroom.

“Ah, and her champion as well,” Josephine greeted with a smile, dipping her head towards Adele. “Ser Adele, a pleasure to see you again.”

“And you as well, Lady Montilyet. I wasn’t aware the Inquisition was here as well,” Adele said as she stepped to Jenara’s side.

“I’m here on Queen Anora’s behalf. The Inquisition will be a…neutral party during these peace talks.”

“I see. Well then I wish you the best of luck. I’m sure you’ll need it.”

Josephine gave a short laugh. “Yes, well, mediating between two…formidable women will certainly be an experience to say the least. Please, excuse me, Ser Adele. I was just…” she gestured to Jenara and Adele dipped her dead but continued to stand by the elf’s side.

Jenara dared a glance up at Josephine and the ambassador smiled kindly when she did. “I spoke with the Empress’ seneschal about some letters that seem to have not been received. He told me that you have been tending to the Empress’ mail for the past few months.”

Jenara’s eyes widened and she nodded quickly, her ear twitching. Josephine tilted her head at the elf’s nervous behavior and saw Adele shake her head in her peripheral. She remembered Jenara being timid when she met with the Empress as well. Though, despite shaking hands, she could still brew an excellent cup of tea. Deciding to take Adele’s word for it that she was simply a nervous sort, Josephine continued.

“You wouldn’t happen to recall a letter from Celene’s former arcane advisor, would you?”

Jenara paused a moment. “Regarding Duke Bastien de Ghislain’s funeral? Her majesty replied that—

“No, no, not Vivienne. Her  _other_  arcane advisor.”

Josephine lifted her eyebrows and the elf dipped her head lower, ear giving another flicker. “No, Lady Montilyet. No such news has come.”

“Odd,” Josephine hummed.

She watched as Jenara began to tremble beneath her eyes. Josephine pursed her lips slightly. Celene certainly did not seem the type to abuse her servants. Particularly given her past proclivities and her efforts with the new Dales Marquise. Then again, there were many above Jenara who could inflict punishment if they so wished.

 “I…I a-apologize, Lady Montilyet,” Jenara managed beneath a shaking voice. “I’m certain I would have r-remembered such a—

“I believe you,” Josephine said, reaching out to touch Jenara’s shoulder.

The elf flinched beneath her touch and Josephine frowned, giving Jenara a kind squeeze before pulling her hand away. She and Adele shared a look before she looked to the elf again.

“The Inquisition has plenty of enemies, after all. It must have been intercepted. I have a copy of the letter. Lady Morrigan says it is of utmost importance. May I entrust you to give it to the Empress?”

She extended the letter and Jenara took it quickly, though her quickness did not hide her shaking hands. Jenara nodded effusively, looking still as if Josephine were to whip her right there in the hallway. Josephine had lived with servants for much of her life, including those in Orlais. Many cowered like Jenara did and the strange guilt she felt when she looked upon them never seemed to ease. She gave Jenara another smile, which the elf probably didn’t even see, and looked to Ser Adele.

“Thank you both. Shall I see you at the dinner tonight?”

“If only for your presence, Lady Montilyet,” Adele said with a bow.

Josephine gave a flattered chuckle before dipping her head towards Adele and heading down the hallway. Adele watched her go. She was aware that Jenara had left her side and was probably racing down the hall to give Celene the letter and she allowed her to go undisturbed. Jenara was always flustered, but that was nothing compared when she thought herself inadequate for the Empress.

 

* * *

 

However uncouth Lady Seryl was in private, she more than made up for it in public. She had arranged for the dinner to take place in her grand ballroom. Three large tables sat around an elevated dance floor dressed with every sort of delicacy imaginable. Purple and gold curtains hung from the massive windows and matching streamers lined the vaulted ceiling. Seryl had also instructed her court mage to conjure up dancing balls of light that flitted from table to table, just high enough to not be a nuisance. A small string quartet was set up in the corner, playing delicate, easy to ignore music.

The lesser nobles were seated along the sides of the ballroom while the table that would sit Celene and Anora sat behind it. The table offered an optimal view the dances that were sure to go on, as well as some privacy from the other tables. Celene and Anora were seated in the center of the table with equal chairs on either side of them. Through the orchestration of Lady Seryl, Briala was seated next to Celene while Josephine was next to Anora.

Celene had chosen another lighter gown. This one was midnight blue with silver trimmings and ornate silver embroidering on her bodice. The fur that lined her back and shoulders was gray but of a fine enough quality to match the embroidering and shimmer in the light. Her mask was polished silver but had no jewels. Intricate designs were engraved into the mask, making it appear as lace rather than metal. She had no jewelry save for a long silver chain that descended into her bosom.

Anora had chosen pink and was wearing another jacket, inlaid and buttoned with gold. There were ruffles on her shoulders and her mask was a simple gold. Celene wagered the queen only had two at most, given that her Orlesian visits were few and far between. Because the dance floor was on the other side of the table, conversation was awkward. In order to look past anyone other than Anora, Celene would have to lean over the table and risk getting food on her dress. Thus she was left with the Queen of Ferelden for conversation or Briala. They were both about as appealing as the deep mushroom salad on her plate. Thankfully, Lady Seryl, who sat next to Briala, had kept the elf busy for the most part, discussing the situation in the Dales as well as possibilities for trade.

From her peripheral, Celene could see that Anora was picking at her own deep mushroom salad. She appeared bored and Celene turned to her, running her tongue over her teeth before she smiled.

“Did you enjoy your meal, your majesty?” she asked, eyes flicking downward to the plate.

“For the most part,” Anora answered, dropping her fork when she saw Celene’s salad was untouched as well.

“I admit, I do detest this deep mushroom trend Orlais seems to have gotten into.”

Anora could see that Celene was trying, so she nodded her head once. Tonight was not the night to wage war for peace. “Perhaps you should ban it.”

“That would only make it all the more popular, don’t you think?”

They began to talk just a bit more easily, switching from equally light topics such as food that Anora detested and the architecture of Jader.

Briala attempted to listen to both Celene’s conversation and Lady Seryl’s, nodding appropriately. She hadn’t been able to get a word in to the Queen with the din of the room. And when Celene spoke to her, it was in a voice so low only the two of them could hear. Briala wasn’t sure if that was something Celene often did to avoid eavesdropping or if she was just doing it to her. Deciding she would get nothing from Celene’s conversation, Briala turned her full attention to Lady Seryl and found that she was smiling.

“What are they talking about, Marquise?” she asked in a low voice.

“Food, I believe,” Briala answered. “Or perhaps the impending doom of the world. Hard to tell in this noise.”

Lady Seryl chuckled. “You’ve certainly come a long way in a short time.”

“It doesn’t seem so short for me.”

“True,” Seryl replied, taking a long drink from her water goblet. Though she had done it discretely, Briala had noticed her pouring a flask into the goblet before the meal began. Liquor hung heavy on her breath since the first course, but she still appeared to have her wits about her. “Hoping to get a word in with the Queen?”

“If she would allow me.”

“I’m not sure I know Ferelden’s position on elves.”

“They’re still elves.”

Lady Seryl took another drink, then dipped her goblet towards the dance floor. “If you want to get her attention, it’s up there.”

Briala smiled kindly. “Although great strides have been made, I doubt anyone here would want to be seen dancing with an elf.”

“I don’t give a piss if they  _want_  to or not, Marquise. Maker, I’d drag you up there myself if it weren’t for this odd rash on my…” she drifted, her eyes catching those of a noble at the other table. She lifted her hand and daintily waved it, signaling him over.

Briala watched as he rose from his chair and headed over, taking his time the Orlesian way by stopping to chat with everyone on the way. Lady Seryl watched him for a moment and gave a short nod in Celene’s direction.

“I’ve always liked Celene,” she said quietly. “She’s smart, knows what she’s doing, even if no one else does. And if she wants your people elevated, by Andraste I’ll lift you myself and hold your ass the whole way.”

Briala had heard stories of Lady Seryl’s private antics many times from Celene and they never failed to make her laugh. However, she was unaccustomed to witnessing them herself and could not prevent the small laugh that escaped her. Lady Seryl winked at her and looked back at the noble that was coming over.

“My nephew, Renaud.  _Utter buffoon._ He’ll never amount to anything and knows it. Therefore, to gain my favor, he’ll do anything I say. Besides, his attire matches swimmingly with yours,” she said, eyeing Briala’s simple, light blue gown.

“Renaud,” Seryl greeted as he finally came over. “Dance with the Marquise.”

Renaud’s smile fell, and Briala realized that Lady Seryl was right about him being a buffoon. Such an open display of emotion was fatal in the game. She, however, kept her face calm and gave him a polite smile. She watched his eyes study her face, her big eyes and tight dress. There was the same flicker of attraction she had seen many times before and she closed her eyes shyly, deciding to play into his masculinity.

Renaud visibly brightened at her demure behavior and bowed, extending his hand to her. She took it and rose gracefully, listening as the voices quieted and all eyes fell upon her. Celene had taught her several dances in the privacy of her bedchambers. The Empress always led, which Briala was now suddenly thankful for, but she had never danced in front of anyone else. Renaud nodded to the quartet as he led Briala up the stairs. They walked with their hands raised together to the center of the floor. The music started once they reached it and Briala turned, feeling Renaud’s hand snake around her waist. He held her tighter than Celene did, his fingers squeezing her back. No doubt he was unaccustomed to dancing with a woman who wore no corset, and she saw the elation in his eyes as he spun her around the dance floor.

He held her hand too loosely and his eyes never failed to fall upon her neck or bosom. When he dipped her, Briala felt his hand slide lower. Not inappropriately so, but it was surely his intention. She moved robotically to the steps, remembering when Celene had first taken her hand to teach her to dance. She had held her hand warmly, and the hand on her back was secure, fingers splayed and holding her in place as she tried to find her footing. And when Celene had dipped her the first time, her hand slid lower, too. But instead of the tingling excitement Celene brought, Renaud only brought revulsion. He spun her again and Briala found Celene. Their eyes met and Briala watched Celene take a breath before she was out of sight again.

Celene had seen Lady Seryl’s nephew extend his hand to Briala and had watched her from the corner of her eye as they descended the stairs hand in hand. When his hand first crept along her back she had to look away. She had taught Briala the moves, but the fluidity in which the elf moved was all her own. Briala had captivated the audience, though Celene couldn’t be sure if it was because she looked and moved so beautifully, or if it was because she was an elf. Most likely it was both. Celene remembered their dance lessons well, the feel of Briala’s skin beneath her fingers as she held her close, her breath on her collarbone. She used to love to dip Briala lower than what was appropriate, because the elf never once was afraid. She would dip as low as Celene’s arms would go, never flinching or tensing. She trusted Celene fully and Celene had never dropped her.

She hadn’t realized how much their bedroom dances paled in comparison to the real thing. Eyes were on Briala, noting her beauty and watching her move. They were entranced by her as Celene always knew they would be. She only wished that Briala was in her arms instead. Because even though it was graceful, Briala was tense in his arms. She could see it in her neck, when she turned her head. And when he dipped her, she could make out the muscles in her thigh flexing, her feet flat on the ground to catch herself if she fell.

 Celene allowed herself to imagine herself in Renaud’s place, both of their dresses shimmering in the light and their feet lighter than air. She had told Briala among their many lessons that dance was an expression. It was meant to convey a feeling, to put the music into a physical form. If it was Celene up there, the crowd would not be able to miss the way she held Briala, the look in her eyes and the loving way they descended as she dipped her. And in that moment they would have the luxury of witnessing love. Love that was, for the brief moment of a song, pure. Of that the Empress was certain.

Renaud spun Briala again and for the briefest of moments, their eyes met. Knowing there were eyes all around, Celene had kept her face under control as she watched the dance. But she couldn’t stop the pain that shot through her chest as her fantasy was broken, and she took a deep breath as once again, Briala was spun away.

“She’s quite a dancer,” Anora said to Celene’s left.

Celene nodded, blinking once before returning to the queen. “She could use a better partner.”

“I’m sure she’ll find one,” Anora answered, her eyes trailing around the room where more nobles were standing to dance. “I wasn’t aware the Marquise would be here.”

“A last minute change, I’m afraid.”

“She wishes to speak to me, does she?”

Anora’s eyes met Celene’s and the Empress couldn’t help but smile. “I would not presume to know what the Marquise thinks,” she answered honestly.

Anora seemed to respect that answer, for she eyed the Marquise again and nodded slowly. Celene studied Anora’s jacket again. The design was still foreign to her, but Anora looked much more comfortable than she felt. Anora turned and Celene realized she’d been caught staring. The queen’s mask rose just slightly on her face, indicative of raised eyebrows.

“Forgive me, your majesty,” Celene said easily. “I’m just admiring your jacket. So simple and yet elegant. They don’t make these in Val Royeaux.”

Anora looked down and traced a line of embroidery with her finger. “I find it more pleasant than a corset.”

“I can imagine.”

Celene watched as Anora’s eyes drifted downward to her bodice, skin tight against her torso. Her eyes moved along Celene’s stomach, no doubt following the pattern of silver before she gave a simple shrug.

“Still, there is something to be said for the intricate beauty of Orlesian gowns.”

The two monarchs met eyes and, for the first time, smiled easily at each other. 


	10. Chapter 10

_Your Imperial Majesty,_

_Dangerous is the Veil and what lurks beyond. Perhaps even more perilous is that which can manipulate the Fade to its will. Somniari are exceedingly rare and for that we dreamers are lucky. They can enter the fade in their sleep, but are not beholden to it as we are. Think, perhaps, of the Eluvians, passing through one world and into another. Such is a somniari to the Fade. Though it would require skill I have not yet seen in my travels, 'tis said that somniari can enter the dreams of others and interact with them. Demons can do the same, as you well know, and you should regard somniari with the same caution._

_The Fade in which we dream gives form to the amalgam of our minds. Thoughts, memories, emotions, secrets intertwined and made real. What, pray tell, would become of someone entering your mind, your majesty? Your letter was unsurprisingly vague, a trait of yours I have come to find endearing over the time we've spent together. Caution keeps one's head atop their shoulders, after all. However, I must urge, if you have encountered a somniari, deal with them appropriately. For I do not know if they can be resisted from inside the mind, or how deep they can delve. And while somniari can interact with others like them in the Fade, I have not before known of them to enter an ‘unwilling’ mind. If such is the case, the mage you deal with has a power not even I can fathom. Should you have more questions, preferably specific this time, I am ever at your disposal._

_Sweet dreams,_

_Morrigan_

Celene read the letter over her morning tea as Jenara stood behind her and brushed her hair. Morrigan may as well have been Orlesian with her flair for dramatics, but a warning from this particular mage was not to be taken lightly. Celene read it over once more, then held it over the candle at her desk. She held onto it until she felt the heat upon her fingers, then dropped it to the floor where it quickly smoldered and died out. Jenara caught a tangle in her hair and murmured an apology as she brushed it out. Celene glanced at the elf's reflection in the mirror. Her mouth was set, eyes moving quickly over her hair as her fingers followed. Without the knowledge of eyes upon her, she looked calm for once, and Celene let her keep her moment of peace by looking back down. Jenara had been a wreck when she supplied the letter, her body trembling with fear at her supposed ineptitude. At the time, Celene thought to mention how many letters were lost to and from her hands but it would probably only make her feel worse. So she had consoled her with kind words and a gentle touch, leaving her alone to do her hair.

Felassan did not seem nearly as sinister as Morrigan had described, but even the tamest of beasts still had claws. She brought a hand to the necklace around her neck and traced her finger against the gold. Surely, despite Briala's affection for Felassan, she could see the threat he possessed. Not just to Briala herself but to the Empire. Could he delve deep enough within her thoughts to find secrets that could remove her from the throne? Bring about war? An involuntary shiver ran through the Empress, and at Jenara's concerned expression, she blamed it on the open window in her chambers. Jenara nodded and returned to her task, her fingers shaking just slightly now.

Celene took another sip of tea. Briala would not want to hear it, but she must be told. The safety of Orlais, and by extension Thedas, may depend on it. But it would have to wait until tonight. Today marked the first of her talks with Anora, and though Josephine was an exemplary diplomat, Celene knew that matters would inevitably get heated. They had been pleasant enough to each other at the dinner last night. But that was because eyes and ears were upon them. Behind closed doors Celene had sought to remove Anora from her seat of power. And judging by the repugnantly snoring dog in the corner, Anora had not forgotten this. In the past, Celene had sought to reclaim Ferelden for Orlais. And if given the opportunity, she would probably try again. But war should be determined by necessity, not greed, and the hole in the sky made the Empress feel quite charitable as of late.

When her hair and torso had been contained and her dress smoothed, Celene donned her mask and allowed Jenara to escort her down the hall, shooing the dog away when it tried to follow. The meetings were to take place in the west wing to allow for privacy and it was a short walk to the study. Being Empress and in her own country, Anora was made to wait, but Celene ensured that it was only for a moment. She didn't want to start these talks off with a supposed superiority complex. Jenara opened the door and bowed deeply to Anora and Josephine before announcing Celene's entrance.

The room was intimate with two large couches set across a wide table. On the table was a map of Orlais and Ferelden, updated to show current dark spawn and red Templar activity, as well as mage strongholds and points of interest for both monarchs. Light streamed in through two large windows and a tea tray with pastries had already been set up. Anora stood and bowed her head as Celene entered while Josephine curtsied. Celene bowed her head to Anora and dipped it just slightly to Josephine. As Celene had suspected, Anora wore her golden mask again. Her dress was a bit more extravagant than Celene had seen. She was in a corset, and her dress was a dark yellow. Massive, rust colored lions were stitched into her gown, facing each other as they rested and roared. It represented Ferelden. Celene had done the same with her Empire, wearing one of her many purple and gold gowns.

Celene sat first with Anora and Josephine following suit. Immediately the ambassador began to write furiously on her little handheld desk. Celene suppressed a smile. Josephine had been the Antivan ambassador to Orlais before she joined the Inquisition. She was skilled at the Game and yet had few enemies. She was one of the few diplomats Celene did not dread to speak with simply because she knew an Empire was run on more than favors and coin. Her knowledge continued to impress today, as Celene stole a glance at her writings and saw that she was working on matters related to the Inquisition. No doubt Josephine would only interfere between her and Anora when necessary, making herself invisible in the meantime.

Celene leaned over and looked at the map that sat between them. There was a lot more activity on her side than Ferelden's and she tried not to let desperation seep into her mind. Anora waited patiently. Celene had called for these talks and Celene could make the first move. The Empress' first move was to lift her hand and signal Jenara for tea.

"Would you care for some tea, your majesty?" She asked kindly. Jenara's hand reached slowly for a second cup.

"Thank you, your radiance."

"Josephine?"

"No thank you, your majesty."

Jenara poured the tea and extended a cup to each monarch. Celene noted that Anora waited for her to take a sip before bringing the cup to her lips, an easy indicator of trust. Or in this case, lack thereof. Celene set her cup down and fixed her eyes on Anora.

"So, let us talk peace. This breach threatens us all. Can Orlais expect Ferelden soldiers should the Inquisition fail?"

To the ambassador's credit, Josephine didn't so much as lift her quill at the mention. Anora glanced down at the map and took another sip of tea.

"Our forces have yet to regain their strength from your first invasion, plus the fifth blight, and now this conflict with the Templars and mages. We've received no Orlesian aid to warrant our own."

"My chevaliers were ready for deployment during the fifth blight," Celene said calmly. "You can't truly be upset that it ended before it began."

"Yes, I suppose you had quite a bit ready for deployment during that time."

Josephine kept writing, but her eyes flickered from Anora's to Celene's. Though she couldn't possibly know what Anora was implying, she could tell that it was a personal attack. Celene gave a hint of a smile and the ambassador returned to her work.

"The past cannot be changed. There is a new fight now, and my chevaliers stand ready. I would have sent them to Ferelden if you'd called for aid."

Beneath her mask, Celene could see Anora's brow furrowing. The queen's hands slid slowly down her gown, appearing as if she was smoothing it out. But Celene could see the temper flaring in her eyes.

"You know as well as I that Orlesian soldiers marching into my weakened country would have only made things worse."

"Coin, then? Supplies? We could have negotiated our trade."

"So why didn't you?"

"You didn't ask."

"I was a bit preoccupied with other matters. And not presume to think I do not find it odd that Orlais takes an interest in us when we’re weakened, your radiance."

Anora's words were spoken through clenched teeth. Josephine put down her quill and dipped her head in respect before speaking.

"The mages declaring their freedom came at an inopportune time for us all. They fought on Ferelden soil while traitors waged civil war in Orlais. Preoccupied does not begin to cover it, I must say."

Celene watched as Anora's shoulders eased slightly. They hadn't gotten far before needing the ambassador's intervention, and it was certain to set the stage for the rest of the day. Celene felt a headache creeping into her temples and took another sip of tea. It was going to be a long day.

As Celene predicted, it was a long day. She had lost count of how many times Josephine had to step in between them and quell tempers. Celene's head was raging and she accepted the pain as chastisement for letting herself get worked up so easily. Anora was proud and stubborn and quick to throw in personal barbs. Celene had tolerated it a few times before deciding to bite back. While she enjoyed the shocked look on the queen's face the first time she retaliated, it only seemed to spur Anora further. They had talked for hours, all the while getting nowhere, if not worse than when they began. Celene could see the weariness in Anora's eyes. They both longed to quit for the day, but neither wanted to seem weak before the other. Thankfully, Josephine seemed just as exhausted, and Celene could play that to her advantage.

"Maker," she spat towards Anora, cutting off her current complaint with an apathetic wave of the hand. "Must you always complain, so? I have left your country alone for ten years because you could not wait to be rid of Orlais, and at the first sign of trouble you bemoan that we do not come to your aid. You cannot bite the hand that feeds, your majesty, and expect breakfast in the morning."

Anora's cheeks grew red even beneath her mask. Her fists clenched against her dress and in Celene's peripheral, Jenara dipped her head lower. It was a gamble she had to make. No doubt it would make her next meeting with Anora all the more tense, but they had been done a long time ago. She needed time to regain her composure and reflect on their arguments. She looked the lesser now, but hoped it would benefit her the next time. Josephine stood then, shaking her head at the two of them.

"I think it's best if we leave this until next time," she said kindly, though her eyes were tired. “These circumstances have affected us all in tremendous ways and cannot be solved overnight.”

Anora was quick to nod in agreement and Celene stood, dipping her head at the queen. “Goodnight, your majesty. We shall continue where we left off next time.”

“As you wish, your radiance.”

Jenara bowed deeply and opened the door for Celene, following her out. Her room was just down the hall, but Celene had no desire to be shut inside another set of walls. And though her business with Anora was concluded for now, there were still other matters that needed attending.

“Jenara,” she said softly as she turned and made her way towards the stairs. “Fetch the Marquise and tell her I await her in the gardens. Let Adele know where I am. Then you’re free until I summon you again.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Jenara said behind her, turning to head to the Ferelden wing as Celene descended the stairs.

 

* * *

 

_Briala,_

_I thought a more commonplace form of correspondence would be better this time around. I take a certain joy in keeping you guessing. If you’re reading this, it would seem you’ve made it Jader. Also, assuming you’re traveling with the Empress, I take it you’re residing in that lofty waste of space on top of the hill? The one that blocks the sun for leagues on one side. Well, I can’t get up there. Believe me I’ve tried, but whatever furry old woman resides in that manor is a paranoid sort. Chevaliers stationed everywhere. But we should meet while I’m here. If you wish to, leave one of your curtains open with a candle burning in the window. My ever so mysterious band of followers will pass on the message. I’ve missed you, da’len. And we have much to discuss, I’m sure._

The letter wasn’t signed but Briala didn’t need a signature to recognize Felassan. The letter was placed upon her pillow when she returned after her talk with Celene, which confirmed Briala’s suspicions that someone in Celene’s service was associated with him. She hadn’t found out who, but neither was she searching that hard. Felassan’s reasons were his own and she had no reason to question him. Most likely he would tell her when they met up anyway. A brief wave of excitement rushed through as she considered his band of followers. Could Felassan’s clan be nearby as well? She knew from their talks that he wasn’t precisely Dalish, but to meet with a group of elves who shared his knowledge and skills was an opportunity she could not miss. For a moment she allowed herself a small fantasy of meeting with Felassan’s clan. Sharing stories around a fire and speaking of things so ancient and powerful it would knock a Dalish keeper off his toes. A knock at her door broke her concentration and Briala pulled it open.

Jenara stood before her. Her eyes glanced curiously at the letter in Briala’s hands before she dipped her head low, giving a bow.

“Her imperial majesty wishes to speak with you in the gardens,” she said quickly.

Briala studied her for a moment, then lifted the elf’s head with her hand. Jenara trembled beneath her touch, her ear twitching as she gazed upon Briala.

“Why do you fear me, so?” she asked.

Jenara’s eyes went wide and she shook her head rapidly, lowering her eyes.

“You know I strive for the betterment of our people.”

“Yes, Marquise.”

“And yet you tremble before me. Has Celene ever—

“No.” Jenara’s voice was firm, and it took the Marquise by surprise. “It is an honor to serve her imperial majesty.”

Briala hid the smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. Her loyalty was endearing, and somewhat comforting, if not bittersweet. She had been that loyal to Celene at one point, too, and the fall from that reality had been hard. Jenara was probably too fragile to survive such a fall.

“You know,” Briala said gently, “there is only so much the Empress can do. She’s bogged down by the Game, the nobles, everyone pulling her this way and that. She cannot do it all by herself. We can help her achieve our mutual goals.”

Jenara’s ear twitched at her words, the elf’s brow furrowing beneath her mask. Briala tried to find her eyes, her voice soft as she continued.

“I will not harm you.”

“You harm the Empress.”

Jenara met her eyes then and Briala could see the determination behind them. She continued to tremble, but she stood tall, continuing at Briala’s obvious confusion.

“She tenses when you’re close, and looks after you long after you’ve gone. You can get anything you desire from her and she knows it, and despises herself for it. Too many have betrayed her. I will not be one of them.”

Jenara was more observant than Briala had given her credit for and she worked to keep the surprise from her face. Her words stung, but not as much as they should have. Because Briala already knew these things. She knew that Celene was victim to her naïve idea of love, the only truth she had held on to for so long. But she would not give Jenara the satisfaction of a response even as guilt swelled in her stomach. So she merely set the letter on her desk and closed the door behind her.

“You said the Empress is in the garden?”

“Yes, Marquise. Shall I escort you?”

“No, thank you. I can find it on my own.”

Jenara dipped her head and the two parted ways as if nothing out of the ordinary had passed between them.

The garden was empty as Briala entered it. Though it was late in the evening, the hole in the sky cast a green glow over everything, claiming it as it had the sky. The gardens sat in the center of Lady Seryl’s four winged square manor. Flowers relevant to every season accompanied each side of the wing, maintained by magic no doubt to always be in bloom. Spotted lilies adorned Briala’s walk from the Ferelden wing, intermixed between a purple sage plant and something gold she didn’t recognize. The garden smelled fresh and clean from the sea air and she reveled in the calm crunching sounds her feet provided on the gravel as she walked.

Lady Seryl had a large fountain in the center of the garden, and its waters could be heard from every edge. Briala knew Celene would be there, sitting on a bench of polished stone, relying on the fountain to keep eavesdroppers at bay. As she passed a wall of sunflowers and turned towards the fountain, Briala saw her.

She was sitting to the side, head tilted upward to examine the hole in the sky. Ever aware of the many surrounding windows, her posture was pristine, hands clasped daintily over her lap. Under the light of the moon, Celene glowed bright and smooth as if sculpted from marble. But this hazy fog that blocked out the moon made her pale skin green and sickly around the edges. Where the moon would illuminate the traces of gold in her hair and make it shimmer like a magical barrier, this rendered even her elegant style dull and wan. Her face betrayed nothing to any who might be observing from their chambers above, but Briala could see the strain of worry in her jaw and the way she relied on her corset to keep her straight, not the muscles she had worked so hard to refine. The column of her throat shifted as the Empress swallowed, eyes still to the sky, and Briala took a step forward, noting Celene’s champion a few paces away. She was as tall and alert as always, but for the hand that stroked the top of Prudence’s head, no doubt keeping her away from the Empress. Prudence did not seem to mind.

Though the Empress had probably heard her coming, she kept her head upward as Briala neared and curtsied before sitting next to her. Briala kept an appropriate distance, eyes daring upward to count the number of illuminated windows, and how many curtains were drawn back. She’d gotten to fourteen when the Empress finally spoke.

“Could you imagine their fear?” she said quietly, eyes still distant and upward as if she was talking to herself. “To be at the holiest place in Thedas, in presence of the Divine, and to hear her scream. To watch the sky open before you and swallow you whole.” She gave a bitter chuckle. “I remember the dread I felt just looking out the window that morning. I truly believed the world was ending. And I was relieved. Maker, I watched it all morning, hoping to see it expand or creep closer. But it did nothing more…and here we are.”

Briala dared a glance up at the breach. It made her stomach swim to watch the vortex for too long and she brought her eyes back down to trace the shadow of Celene’s jaw, still just as fine and delicate as it always had been.

“I take it the meeting with Anora didn’t go as planned.”

“Not as planned, but as I expected.”

“Were you able to plant the seed?”

Celene scoffed, finally bringing her eyes down, where they stared straight ahead. “We did not make it past petty insults.”

“I thought the ambassador was to attend to that.”

“She did. And she did well. But Anora was unyielding, and I admit I was…impatient. Tomorrow will fare better. In my case, anyway.”

Briala didn’t respond and when Celene stayed quiet, the elf decided to let her be. She watched her in silence as Celene thought about Maker knows what. She had always been brilliant, even as a girl, sneaking advanced tomes from her father’s study to read by candlelight when she should have been sleeping. She would read anything she could find, be it economics or biology, and always regaled what she had found to Briala the next day. It was in moments like these that Briala wished she had paid more attention. She was just a girl at the time, and was more concerned with getting her mistress’ hair to sit appropriately than the inner workings of dwarven lyrium trade or why nugs had fingers. So she would nod and smile accordingly as Celene prattled on about things she had no desire to understand. After a time, Celene eventually caught on that Briala wasn’t listening. And though Celene continued to read up until her time as Empress, using her precious little spare time to delve into another book, Briala did her hair in silence.

Thus the Empress, as always, was left alone with her thoughts. Even as Briala grew older and more inquisitive, sneaking tomes for herself or hoarding the ones Celene provided. Celene had always answered her questions, listened to her diatribes, and even lectured when asked. But she always had to be asked. She never broached topics with Briala anymore unless they concerned them both. Once, Briala had tried asking Celene her opinion on why nugs had fingers, and the Empress had just laughed, a light blush coloring her cheeks before she waved the question away.

Celene’s excuse for keeping her thoughts to herself was that she didn’t want to burden Briala with them. She had said that on multiple occasions in the warm mornings of her bedchambers. She would hold Briala tightly and gracefully swat away any attempts at indulgence. If Briala pressed too hard, Celene would silence her with a kiss and distract her with her hands until the question was forgotten. Celene was meant to be a scholar, to travel the world seeking knowledge and publishing life changing tomes of her own for some little girl to read by candlelight. But instead she became Empress and traveled the world to smile behind a mask and play little games for favor. Favor that kept her alive. Briala gripped the edge of the bench.

“Let me accompany you tomorrow.”

“We’ve been over this,” Celene said tiredly, closing her eyes.

“I meant in place of Josephine.”

A smile touched at the corner of Celene’s mouth. “You are not what I would consider ‘neutral’ in any sense of the word.”

“Anora doesn’t know that. It’s a play in the Game, a chance for you to gain the upper hand. My presence will surprise Anora, catch her off guard. You’ll have the advantage.”

“It’s shamefully obvious, Briala. Besides, you said you’d find your own way to see the queen.”

“Think of—

“Have I not given enough today?” Celene snapped quietly, turning her head for the first time to regard the Marquise.

Briala thought back to her short conversation with Jenara and remembered the feel of Celene’s lip beneath her thumb and averted her eyes from Celene’s gaze. She heard the Empress sigh and felt her eyes upon her.

“You looked beautiful last night,” Celene said after a moment.

“As did you.”

Celene gave a slight scoff of disbelief. “I cannot dance as you do.”

“You know you can, Celene. You’re the one who taught me.”

“The steps, yes. But to move as fluidly as you do, the way you…it cannot be taught.”

“I move better in your arms.”

Celene licked her lips, giving a near imperceptible shake of her head. If they were anyone,  _anyone_  else, she would have stood and extended her hand to Briala. She would hold her like Briala was meant to be held, not as a possession but as a partner, two people coming together to bring form to music only they could hear. Those peering down from the windows would gape and murmur and disapprove but it would all be worth it. If they were anyone else. As it was, Celene could not even slide closer to the elf, could barely look her way for too long for fear of causing suspicion.

It would have been easier if Briala was human. Many a noble and monarch alike had houses built specifically for their lovers, where they could be with them whenever they desired. It was so common it was practically in fashion. She cast a sideways glance at Briala’s ears, dark and soft and sensitive. How many times had Briala shuddered beneath her when the Empress skimmed her teeth along the velvet skin of her ear? It was one of Celene’s favorite things to do.

“Have you heard from Felassan?” Celene asked, forcing her thoughts back to reality. A reality that dictated they could not be together and that hope was for those who were not the Empress of Orlais.

“Why?”

“I’m not sure I like the idea of someone in your head.”

Briala gave a short laugh. “He doesn’t care about the Empire, your radiance. He never has.”

“You can’t be certain of that.”

“I’ve known him near as long as I’ve known you.”

“And I still betrayed you.”

The words still stung, even after all this time, and Briala gripped tighter to the bench. “Felassan has no reason to lie to me. I would give him whatever he asked for.”

“And that’s what worries me.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have betrayed me.”

Celene clenched her teeth for just a moment, the gold chain around her neck glinting in the odd green light. “This goes beyond you and me, Briala. There are secrets of the Empire in your mind, things you would never think to tell anyone else. He could access them freely. He may not care about the Empire, but there are plenty who do.”

There was truth in Celene’s words, but Briala couldn’t stand to hear them. She had lost far too much to this woman. Her parents, her heart. Celene would not take Felassan.

“You would do well not to underestimate me, your majesty,” she said coldly, standing to leave before Celene could respond.

Celene watched her go, listening as footsteps arose from behind her. She could see Adele in her peripheral, still watching, and determined that whoever was coming must be a friend. She smelled liquor before they came into view, and Celene sighed, relaxing just slightly.

“Lady Seryl,” she greeted as the aged woman took a seat next to her.

“I’d have thought with your predilections you’d have better luck with women,” Seryl murmured so that only Celene could hear her.

Celene frowned at her, her heart racing slightly as she fought to keep her face impassive. “I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, you wish to play the Game? Fine then,” Seryl answered, straightening her posture. Celene watched as her face fell into the same blank expression that graced her court, betraying nothing. Then Seryl put on a saccharine smile. “Do you remember that trend a few years back that required all women and men to have ghastly long fingernails so that they could be painted? People went so far as to hire world famous artists to paint Andraste’s tits on their pinkies. Her majesty was very fond of gloves that year. Know who else was fond of gloves during that trend?”

Instead of answering, Seryl reached her finger out and dared to touch the Empress. Her finger slid down Celene’s, where it tapped once on her nail. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you, your radiance, but these are the longest I’ve ever seen your nails, and they’re still short. Habit keeps them short, I would wager, but the lack of meticulousness suggests you haven’t had to use them much lately. And don’t think I don’t recognize the Marquise. She was your handmaiden since you were a child.”

“I’m not certain I see your point,” Celene answered, pulling her hand from Seryl’s touch. “One would think you have more important matters to attend to than studying the Empress’ fingernails.”

“And one would think the Empress was far too busy to entertain a female lover, but there she goes,” Seryl answered, flicking her hand in the direction of Briala’s exit. “Are we still playing the Game? I do so enjoy speaking freely with you.”

Celene sighed, and Seryl took the balling of her hands as a sign of defeat, giving a nod. “You’ve nothing to worry about, majesty. I care not for trivial matters of the bedroom. In fact, I support them. Something’s got to loosen the tension in those shoulders. Besides, I’ve got sordid tales on all of them.” She gestured to the windows around them. “Men, women, elves, dwarves, even a few qunari. Plus one riveting tale involving some oiled nugs.”

“Spare me, please,” Celene sighed, fighting to keep her face calm. She knew that people knew of her and Briala. The Inquisition was the one to reunite them of all things. But she had never had someone so blatantly discuss it to her face. Fear surrounded her, as well as a twinge of shame. She felt as if she was on display in front of Lady Seryl, and there was the ever present concern that Seryl could betray her. Anything was possible.

“As you wish,” Seryl said with a nod. “I hear your talks didn’t fare well with Anora either.”

“It’s just the beginning.”

“Do you need me to make a point of asserting your authority? I’ve been cooking up a few ideas on how to respond to her giving you that dreaded dog.”

“Thank you, Seryl, but no. I’m not here to assert my authority over Anora.”

Seryl chuckled. “My, but wouldn’t that be a sight to see. Anora’s got tension in her shoulders that could use easing as well.”

“ _Seryl_. There is a limit to my generosity.”

“You think you’re the first Empress to get her rocks off on another royal? Emperor Florian was head over heels— possibly quite literally—for Meghren, who was at the time King of Ferelden, as you well know. In fact, the coincidence is quite hilarious now that I think about it. Orlais and Ferelden… _united_  again.”

“I am still the Empress,” Celene chided, eyes searching for anyone who could be nearby enough to hear. “You would do well to contain yourself, Seryl. At least in some respects.”

“I never took you for a prude, Celene.”

“I never took you for the Randy Dowager.”

“Your mistake.”

“Mine, indeed.”

“Say, I’ve a question for you,” Seryl began, sliding just a bit closer. “My page, Llowen, is my first elf. He gets the jitters when I stroke his ears in the bedroom—

“ _Seryl_ ,” Celene tried again through clenched teeth. She was certain her blush was noticeable and was for once thankful for the strange hue the breach cast upon the ground. Seryl appeared not to notice.

“—and I can’t tell if it’s because it’s  _enjoyable_  or because it’s odd. And he gets all a fluster when I try to ask him about it and just buries himself in my tits to get away.”

“I should have let myself get assassinated.”

“So, do they like their ears being touched or not?”

“Goodnight, Seryl. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Celene said, rising from the bench and making her way to the west wing. She could hear Seryl’s chuckling behind her and kept her head held high.

Adele joined her inside and she could hear the dog at her champion’s feet. Celene began to climb the stairs and turned her head to the side to glance at Adele.

“How much did you hear?” she asked.

“You wanted priv—

“I trust you with my life, Adele, surely you can be trusted with my secrets as well?” Celene knew it was futile to lie to those closest to her. She was certain Jenara knew of her history with Briala, as the elf saw much more than she let on. And though it was probably a fault on her part, she couldn’t help but trust Adele just a bit more because of her interest in Jenara, whether requited or not.

“With my life, your majesty.”

They walked in silence until Celene reached the hall where her bedchambers was located. Just before she was in earshot of the guards at her door, Adele spoke behind her.

“Majesty?”

Celene stopped and turned slowly, eyes scanning again for anyone near enough to listen. It was just them in the hallway, save for the guards too far away to hear. Adele looked nervous. She gripped tightly to her sword and shook her head, almost as if she was about to tell the Empress to never mind. Then she sighed and squared her shoulders.

“I know that you’re well read in biology. From your readings…elven ears. Is it…are they…?”

“From my  _readings_ ,” Celene answered quietly, thankful for the out Adele had given her, “they are extremely delicate and sensitive. They should be handled with care.”

“I…thank you, your radiance.”

“And Adele?”

“Yes, your radiance?”

Celene stepped just a bit closer. There was still appropriate distance between them and her face exuded a calm as if she was giving a simple order. Adele kept her face neutral as well, nodding as if she was receiving said orders.

“Think of the ears as a promise. Don’t make a promise you don’t intend to keep. And don’t touch the ears if you’re not willing to touch the rest.”

Celene’s eyebrows rose underneath her mask. She saw Adele’s eyes widen as she realized the intent and the chevalier gave a nod before bowing her head.

“I understand, your radiance. Thank you.”

“Yes, well, I think that’s quite enough for today, don’t you?”

“As you wish, majesty. Have a good evening.”

Celene highly doubted that her evening would be good given the day she had, but she smiled politely and headed to her bedchambers.

Across the manor in the eastern wing, Briala pulled one of her curtains back and set a burning candle in the window. She watched it flicker for a moment, thinking of Celene and her parents, of Felassan and the Eluvians, and turned away.


	11. Chapter 11

Briala was waiting for Josephine as she stepped out of her chambers the next morning. Though Josephine visibly startled at Briala’s presence, she quickly relaxed into an easy smile. Briala returned it. She liked Josephine Montilyet, as most everyone did, and she hoped that this exchange would go as simply as she imagined. She did not want to gain the ire of the Inquisition.

“Lady Montilyet,” she greeted with a bow, watching as Josephine bowed in return, “I regret that I haven’t yet had the pleasure of your company.”

“The pleasure is entirely mine,” Josephine answered.

Briala marveled for a moment at the way Josephine rolled her ‘R’s and pondered the difference in the Antivan and Orlesian language. Orlesian seemed to hold an air of arrogance, regardless of who was speaking, while Antivan was light and friendly. The accent itself could play as much of a part in the Game as the words spoken in it.

“I understand your Inquisitor is heading to the Emerald Graves soon,” Briala began as they started to walk down the hall together. “She heads into quite a bit of unrest. The Graves are furthest from my reach as Marquise.”

“I’ve no doubt you’ve the reach and strength to regain control, Marquise.”

“Of course. And I shall, with time. But your Inquisitor heads there soon, and it should be known that a human army, no matter how sympathetic to our cause, will bring about concern to my forces.”

Josephine stayed silent and Briala continued.

“But rest assured, I’ve sent out letters and emissaries to all who will listen, explaining the Inquisition’s purpose. With luck, when the Inquisitor enters the Dales, she will encounter only mutual enemies. And, of course, any goods and resources you find there are yours to keep.”

“You are most generous, Marquise,” Josephine said. “How can the Inquisition repay you?”

There was a bit of caution in her voice, a warning that Briala understood not to overstep her boundaries. She could respect that. Josephine was ambassador to quite a large and persuasive movement with a lot of pull.

“Think of it as a gift,” Briala answered. “A token of my thanks for her efforts at Halamshiral, as well as a reminder of my promise to aid the Inquisition.”

“Then perhaps there is something I can do for you. A personal thanks.”

Josephine was quick and Briala gave her a respectful smile to show her admiration of the ambassador’s skill at the Game.

“I understand you’re mediating between the Empress and Queen Anora today.”

“That is correct.”

“I also understand that you’re still the Inquisition’s ambassador, and have enough work as it is, much less dealing with them all day.”

“It is not more than I can handle.”

“Of course. But why not let me ease your burden? I’ll sit in with the monarchs and you can catch up on Inquisition matters.”

“You’ll forgive me, Marquise, but you’re not exactly a neutral party.”

“Neither are you, Lady Montilyet. Everyone knows it’s the Orlesian chevaliers you rely on to defeat Corypheus, not Ferelden soldiers. And everyone knows it’s the Empress’ favor that keeps you in Orlais and maintains your status as a force to be reckoned with.”

Josephine knew there was no way she could refuse. To do so would be to seem ungrateful of Briala’s efforts in the Dales. Briala could see Josephine calculating behind her eyes, trying to figure out just why Briala wanted in with them. It was simple enough to think that Briala merely wanted an audience with the queen, which was not quite a lie. Finally Josephine’s shoulders fell just slightly in defeat.

“I will tell Queen Anora of the change,” she said.

“Allow me, ambassador. It’ll save you the trip.” As a gesture of goodwill, she extended her hand and placed it on Josephine’s arm, allowing the gratitude to grace her features. “Thank you.”

Josephine seemed to relax a bit at that and she smiled again, dipping her head to the Marquise. She made to turn to head back to her bedchambers, then stopped, facing Briala once more. Briala could see the worry in her eyes as she spoke, no doubt something Josephine was aware she was doing.

“Marquise, you do realize the importance of these talks?” she asked, her head lowered to indicate she was speaking respectfully. “If Anora and Celene cannot reconcile, Corypheus—

“I have no plans to impede their peace talks,” Briala answered, placing a hand to her heart. “You have my word, Lady Montilyet.”

The ambassador relaxed and gave another nod before making her way back to her chambers, already scribbling away at her reports. Briala watched her go until she disappeared behind her door, then she made her way to the study. She arrived first, as Josephine was supposed to, and sat on the couch Anora had used the day before. She allowed herself to smirk at the image of Celene seeing her today, finding her own way to the queen just like she’d told her she would.

Anora arrived a few minutes later, escorted by Lady Seryl’s page. He opened the door for the queen and flashed her a strange look before bowing to the side. Anora stepped through, looking quite pleasant in her simple cream colored gown and jacket, though her face hardened behind her mask as she gazed upon the Marquise.

“Marquise,” she greeted less than cordially as Briala curtsied to her.

“Your majesty.”

“I was expecting Lady Montilyet.”

Briala watched as she sat on the couch opposite her as the door closed behind them. “Lady Montilyet had Inquisition business to attend to today.”

Anora hummed and Briala suddenly felt very small under her gaze. She had thought Celene to be exaggerating when she mentioned her fear of the queen, but perhaps there was some truth to her words. She, like Celene, had great respect for any woman who could rule her country well without the influence of a man. But Anora had clearly done so by proving that she was just as hard as any man could be. She certainly seemed more fitting of the name Madame de Fer than Lady Vivienne.

The door opened and the both of them stood as Celene stepped through, Jenara by her side. She noticed Briala instantly but kept her face calm as she greeted the queen. Anora dipped her head quickly before she gestured to the Marquise.

“Were you aware of this?” she asked.

“No,” Celene answered. Her voice was heavy, tired, as if she wasn’t surprised. “Marquise Briala, what an unexpected surprise.”

Jenara’s ear twitched behind Celene, and she met Briala’s eyes warily. Briala turned away, bringing her eyes to the Empress.

“Your radiance, if it pleases you, I’ll be stepping in for Lady Montilyet today.”

“You’re  _Orlesian_ ,” Anora stated, stepping next to the Empress. For a moment the two of them looked like a united front as they stared down at the Marquise.

“I’m an  _elf_ , your majesty. Even more foreign to you than Antivan."

"But much more involved."

Anora looked to Celene and Briala quickly realized that she was hoping for Celene to side with her. Doing so or not doing so would greatly affect their talks. Briala had promised Josephine, and subsequently herself, that she would not interfere in this way, and she spoke before Celene could respond.

"Your majesty, forgive me, but the breach is not over Antiva. It is over Ferelden and dreadfully close to Orlais. It threatens my home and my people."

"We all value our lives, Marquise. The severity in which we do does not change the fact that you are Orlesian and owe a debt to the Empress."

"I owe nothing to the Empress," Briala answered, refusing to see Celene's reaction in her peripheral.

Anora lifted her head, regarding her slowly. "Except the title that allows you in this room instead of the kitchens."

Briala felt her cheeks redden in spite of herself. Though Anora lacked the tact required for the Game in this instance, she was not wrong.  She traced the fabric of her dress as she tried to calm herself down. The action must have been noticed by Celene for she turned to Anora.

"It's your choice, your majesty. If you wish her gone, just say the word."

Briala didn't know if it was an actual gamble or if Celene didn't care either way. The Empress was turned away from her and she could not see her face. Anora seemed to be studying her intently, searching for signs of deception. Finally, Anora squared her shoulders and sat opposite to Briala again. Whatever she deduced from Celene’s words, she must have decided it was better to keep Briala here. Celene moved to sit next to the elf, keeping close to the arm of the couch. Once the monarchs were settled Briala set about making herself invisible. She had a lot of training in the matter and through her silence and dipped head, the conversation soon began to flow freely between Celene and Anora.

 

* * *

 

"The Inquisitor is still in the Western Approach, your majesty," Celene said between sips of tea. "When I receive the Inquisition's report we can exercise better judgment on what to do with the Wardens."

"Regardless of the Inquisitor, if this Corypheus unleashes another blight we've only a handful of Wardens to fight it. We must begin incentivizing recruits for joining."

"Our Warden ranks are depleted because of Corypheus and his corruption of them and you wish you enlist more?"

"Do you know of anyone else who can kill an archdemon?"

"We don't even know if there  _is_  an archdemon. And until we do, I will not willingly put more of my people in danger."

Celene set her cup down elegantly, but Briala could sense the tension from the Empress by her side. Anora was not one to back down, and she had certainly given the Empress a run for her money today. Every snide remark sent the Empress’ way only seemed to rile her up more, despite her experience delegating such matters. Briala had only intervened once, an action which seemed to startle both of the women. Clearly her disappearing act was all too convincing. Now they kept to important matters, slipping in minor barbs here and there. Almost all of Anora's barbs reflected Cailan's emotional affair with Celene and they stung Briala more than the elf liked to admit.

They had talked for weeks about Celene's plan to retake Ferelden by wedding its King. Rumors had spread of Cailan's beautiful queen and how she had been unable to produce an heir. Because Celene had been the one to broker peace between Ferelden and Orlais, many in court thought her weak before the dog lords. It was a calculating move on the Empress' part. Briala couldn't deny it. Nor did she, despite the fact that she could tell Celene had wanted her to. It would have been easier to ignore Ferelden all together and tend to her own affairs, but that would not be enough for Orlais. Celene inherited an empire weakened by madness and it was her duty to restore it to its former glory.

Her first letter to Cailan had been formal, concerning the potential blight and her willingness to aid. Cailan had responded just as formally, and Celene took the next step to send him a letter privately, via one of her many spies. Briala remembered the night she got his reply vividly. She had opened the passageway to find an expectant Celene standing before her. Briala didn't get a chance to ask about her tear stained cheeks before Celene pulled her through the door and into her arms. They made love over and over again that night, the Empress' vigor renewed every time Briala tried to enquire about the pain that Celene could not hide. Finally, sweating and exhausted with the light of dawn creeping over the horizon, Celene leaned over to her nightstand and produced a letter.

Briala's own head was swimming with drowsy bliss as she began to read. The flirtatious lines and translucent innuendos sobered her immediately. Cailan seemed all too eager to press forward with Celene and the reality of the situation was now palpable. If they continued in this manner, Cailan would wed Celene. Marriages must be consummated, and Briala knew from the one letter alone that consummation was in the forefront of the king's plans. She gripped the letter tightly, unable to keep the image of Celene under a man she did not love out of her mind. She imagined Celene's stomach swollen with an heir, a sign of betrayal that Briala wouldn't be able to ignore and a child she would never come to love, no matter how much it resembled her Empress. Jealousy flared through her and her heart began to race. A burn roiled through her gut that could only be quenched by fury. The one thing that was free from the Game, their love, was now compromised.

Celene knew it as well, and her eyes were wide and hopeful as she gazed upon Briala. She felt Celene’s fingers upon her arm, tracing up and down and gently pulling the elf back to her and away from her cruel imagination. Briala knew Celene wanted her to protest, to fight for her heart and claim it. And she had desperately wanted to. But instead she dropped the letter onto the damp sheets and kissed Celene deeply. She took the Empress as her own one more time before the sun came up and told her that she loved her as she disappeared back through the passageway. For the Empress. For the Empire.

When she returned that night, Celene had drafted a new letter, and Briala found that she couldn't read it. She drew a bath for them instead and they stayed in the tub together long after the water turned cold. It was only when Briala got the news of King Cailan's death at Ostagar that the burning in her gut truly subsided.

“Besides,” Celene continued, “incentivizing recruits would imply that the Wardens were politically involved. It would only further tarnish their name.”

“See the bigger picture,” Anora urged. “The Warden treaties can only be used during the blights, and by that time it will be too late to recruit the ranks we need. If we were to create a treaty amongst ourselves and future rulers to incentivize recruits, we can be assured that the Wardens will be ready to face the next one, not scrambling to their allies like last time.”

“And what if there isn’t another blight? Then we will have an army of dying men and women who will most assuredly feel betrayed by our… _incentives_.”

“If they’re Orlesian and Ferelden, I’m sure they’ll be used to it.”

Anora’s voice was calm, but Briala still heard Celene sigh next to her. Lifting only her eyes, Briala watched as Celene brought a hand to her mask and pulled it off, setting it on the map. Anora’s eyes squinted slightly and Briala could see her eyes running over the Empress’ face. Presumably she’d never seen Celene without her mask, and it no doubt came as a surprise to find a woman beneath the gleaming façade.

“Let’s just get this out of the way,” Celene said, leaning forward slightly. “No Game, no allusions, no mask. Say what you’d like to say.”

Anora’s eyes flickered to Briala but the elf kept her head down. She studied Celene again, then pulled her mask off, setting it next to her. Briala watched from her peripheral as it was Celene’s turn to study the queen. She lifted her head just slightly, interested in what she saw, and Briala dared a glance as well. Anora’s face was softer than the Empress’ and it made her seem younger than she was and her eyes were a darker blue. They looked nothing alike but the presence they both carried with them was identical. Briala swallowed as Anora placed her hands on the couch and gripped it tightly.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Every other word out of your mouth is a reference to Cailan. Yes, I corresponded with him. Yes, I would have married him. You know these things. It’s a decade long moot point. What do you want from me?”

Anora bristled at her words, gripping tighter to the couch. She took a deep breath and Briala watched the Empress’ eyes drift down the queen’s gown for a brief moment. She felt a burning sensation in her stomach, lifting her head to get a better view.

“You admit you tried to take my husband from me?”

“I admit that I would have married him. To take implies that I coerced him. You read the letters, no? They weren’t one sided.”

“You sent the first.”

“He was under no obligation to respond.”

“He was still—

“Oh stop,” Celene said, letting a grimace grace her features. “Despite what you may think, Anora, I have the utmost respect for you. You’re a brilliant leader and have done exceedingly well despite the trials Ferelden has faced. Do not belittle yourself to a jilted lover. Do not belittle me to an adulterer.”

Anora paused at that, swallowing as she gazed upon the Empress. Celene held her head high, but Briala could see there was no judgment in her eyes. Finally Anora sighed and released her grip on the cushion.

“You tried to remove me from power. That is not something I can easily forgive.”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” Celene smiled. “Yes I did. Everyone knows that Cailan was not known for his…diplomatic abilities. And yet Ferelden thrived under him. There was only one explanation.” She rose an eyebrow at the queen, who suppressed a smirk.

“Yes, and he was too love-struck to see through your letters.”

“Lust-struck, I’d wager.”

Anora eyed the Empress again, studied her fine face, and then nodded. “You’d have claimed Ferelden for Orlais and cast him aside as soon your vows were through.”

“As much as I could, yes.”

“And I would have been thrown out on the street.”

Celene gave a quiet laugh. “I doubt that. More like thrown out into a lavish estate.”

Anora sighed, her face falling slightly. “And all because I’m barren. Men care only for their heirs, not the women who provide them.”

Despite her attempts to hide it, Briala could see the pain in Anora’s eyes. She hadn’t thought about the queen when Celene was corresponding with Cailan. Celene hadn’t either. She didn’t think about the woman who thought her body was failing her, who knew her worth and yet was reduced to being ‘broken’ before her kingdom. A supposedly broken woman who discovered the man she loved was planning to leave her, despite all that she had done for him and Ferelden. Celene tilted her head just a bit to the side, studying Anora’s face, no doubt seeing the same pain Briala did. She saw the Empress’ hand twitch before it smoothed out over her gown.

“Does Cailan have any bastards?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Bastards. Does he have any that you know of?”

“I…no.”

Celene shrugged. “Then who knows where the fault lies. Who cares, for that matter. You are the rightful Queen of Ferelden and your people are lucky to have you, whether they realize it or not.”

Anora’s jaw tightened for a moment. She was still guarded, tight in her shoulders. Briala knew she still didn’t trust Celene, mask or no. And Briala couldn’t exactly blame her. “If the Hero of Ferelden had put Alistair on the throne, would you have propositioned him next?”

 Celene smiled, deciding to take a gamble. “If such things were possible, your majesty, I would have propositioned  _you_.”

Jenara tensed in Briala’s peripheral, reacting as the Marquise wished she could. Her heartbeat increased slightly as she fought to keep her face neutral. What was Celene thinking? Surely Anora’s favor wasn’t worth the repercussions of this knowledge getting out. Orlais cared not about sexual preferences, unless it concerned the nobility. If the court were to find out that Celene preferred women, she would be forced to accept the first decent proposal that came along just to keep her on the throne. And even that might not be enough.

Anora blinked at Celene’s words before she frowned in thought. She looked to Briala again and the elf allowed the smallest bit of surprise to grace her features in hopes of showing the queen that Celene was being sincere. Anora looked to the Empress again. She was prettier than the queen had assumed, and this admission, if it were true, was not something to be taken lightly. She thought back to the Empress’ letters to her and was reminded of the sincerity that resounded in the tone of the writing. Celene was not like Florian or Meghran, not like the countless fools her father had swatted down. Her father would be appalled to hear her say it, but neither would he have denied it. She was calculating and brilliant and, in the years that she had ruled, desired peace. Even her marriage to Cailan was a peaceful solution of getting Ferelden back. Perhaps she also knew when to back down and truly had no desire to reclaim Ferelden. Or perhaps she was just waiting for Anora to die so she could try again.

She knew that the admission was a gesture of trust. Anora could destroy her with this knowledge and have her removed from the throne. They both knew this, and Celene had done it anyway. Anora’s eyes glanced at the subdued mask of the Empress, the fur that lined her collar and sleeves, and gave a soft smile.

“I wouldn’t have agreed,” she said, and Celene noted the teasing in her tone. The tension in Anora’s shoulders relaxed just slightly. There was still a warning there, a hesitance. But this was all part of the queen’s test. And Celene was more than happy to play along.

“I can be very persuasive.”

Briala saw Jenara’s eyes flicker to her for a moment. She wondered if the elf saw the anger within her. Anger that she had no right to feel, but it was there all the same, and it only grew worse as she saw the flicker of excitement in Celene’s eyes, the arrogant upturn of her grin.

Anora raised an eyebrow. “You know I wouldn’t allow myself to be cast aside. I think you’d soon tire of our ceaseless arguing.”

“ _I_  think,” Celene answered, pausing for effect, “I would have liked the challenge.”

Anora smiled and the burning in Briala’s gut began to roil. Just like it had those ten years ago.

“Well, perhaps we’ll leave the Wardens for now. I assume we’ll compare reports when they come in, your radiance.”

“Certainly, your majesty. Now, if you’re interested, I had an idea concerning the trade deals we touched upon yesterday.”

 

* * *

 

Briala couldn’t stand it. They were speaking like old friends now, and she wasn’t needed. They still argued, of course, but it lacked the vitriol from before, the lingering tension. She hated it. Hated the easy way Celene spoke to Anora, hated the way she swept her hand over the map or pointed at a destination. She hated Anora’s perfect posture and soothing voice and the way that they made decisions. They had long since left the topic of Celene’s admission and hadn’t brought it up again but it was all that Briala could think about. It was idiotic and unthinkable but she couldn’t stop herself.

Celene was dangling it in front of her. This human woman who was everything Briala could not be simply because her ears were round. How quickly she could be replaced for someone better. Because the Empress of Orlais could have anyone she desired. And the moment Briala was out of the picture she had moved onto bigger and better things. Celene always had to be in control, and she would achieve that control by any means necessary. Anora was falling for it just like everyone else had. And if she got too cozy with Celene, Briala wouldn’t be able to get her meeting.

Jenara’s eyes had been on her for some time, watching as Briala struggled to control herself. She shot the elf a piercing glare and Jenara trembled, her eyes dropping to the ground. Celene was giving more and more ground to Anora like she had never given to Briala. It was all so simple when matters concerned humans. And even simpler if there was a possibility for a romp.

“…the statue of Loghain Mac Tir was defaced yet again,” Anora said lightly, breaking Briala’s thoughts.

“Are reparations in order?” Celene asked.

That did it. Briala scoffed and lifted her head. “You’re joking.”

Celene turned her way slowly, and every bit of her calm body exuded a warning to Briala. But Briala kept her eyes on Anora, finger still poised on the map. She watched as the queen’s face became icy and fought to keep her intimidation at bay.

“I don’t believe we’re in need of your input, Marquise,” Anora deadpanned.

“You’re making a mockery of the Empress,” Briala said, refusing to see Celene in her peripheral. “Loghain Mac Tir is a personal embarrassment to Orlais and to Ferelden. He slew hordes of our best soldiers only to betray your husband at Ostagar and tear your country apart. And you wish for the Empress to pay for his rightly defiled statue?”

“Out,” Anora said, lifting her finger to point to the door.

Jenara made her way over and pulled the door aside, dipping her head low. Briala stood, fists clenched.

“I am  _not_  one of your mabari,” she hissed.

“No, a mabari knows its place.”

It was Celene who said it. Briala looked down at the Empress and regarded her lovely face of stone. She allowed anger into her expression for Anora’s sake and gestured to the door.

“You heard the queen. Out.”

Briala stared at her for a moment more before bowing just enough to keep her head. Then she strode out the door. Jenara shut the door quickly upon her exit and the two women were silent for a moment. Then Anora tilted her head to the Empress with a look of confusion.

“I wasn’t asking  _you_  for reparations,” she clarified.

Celene was still looking towards the door but she managed a nod. “I know. Nor was I offering them. Clearly the Marquise’s mind was elsewhere.”

“Regardless, I don’t think we need a mediator from here on out.”

“Thank the Maker for that.”

 

* * *

 

Briala managed to make it to her chambers without incident. However, as soon as the door shut behind her she turned and punched her bureau. It was made of a fine wood and didn’t so much as scuff, which only increased her anger. Her hand throbbed, one of the knuckles having been split open, and she placed her lips over it as she began to pace.

Celene had ruined everything. She had set out to ignite Briala’s temper and make her look a fool in front of Anora. That was likely her plan all along and the reason she had convinced the queen to keep her there. Now Celene didn’t have to live up to her promise of talking about the elves with Anora. If the queen didn’t wish to hear it, what could the Empress do? Briala bit down on her knuckle to keep from throwing it again. She had several things that needed attending. Her spies had updates, she had orders, she needed to review the inventory from her supply lines and she still wanted to head out to the nearest Eluvian and see about unlocking more. That wasn’t including her correspondence with the Dales which she had admittedly fallen behind on.

Her knees began to shake, head swimming with fury and business and espionage all in one. She couldn’t follow any of her trains of thought and flitted back and forth between tasks and ideas, all the while trying to force thoughts of Celene and Anora from her mind.

Aside from her flirting for political gain, Celene had never wandered during their time together. She was the Empress’ spymaster, after all, and she knew where Celene was at all times. Any moments of peace the Empress had were spent with her. She had never entertained the idea of Celene being with anyone else. She had never even entertained the idea of herself being with anyone else. But now that it had been made known to her, she hated it. It wasn’t fair that circumstances beyond their control could tear them apart while others followed their hearts freely. Briala’s chest ached at the thought and she dropped her hand. Celene wasn’t an object. She could not be possessed. But Briala hated that she would even consider someone else. She hated that she had never considered it herself. Celene’s previous suitors and interests had been men, and she was foolish to have gotten complacent.

There was a knock on her door.

Briala glanced at her knuckle. The bleeding had stopped and was now drying against her hand. She held the hand behind her back as she opened the door. Jenara stood in front of her, head bowed. No doubt she was too frightened to make eye contact now, and Briala couldn’t blame her.

“Her Imperial Majesty requests your presence in the western study,” she rattled.

“Of course she does.”

Briala had half a mind to shut the door in Jenara’s face, but it wasn’t her fault. So she merely stepped out and closed the door behind her, allowing Jenara lead her back into the room she had just left. The elf opened the door for her and as Briala stepped through, Jenara stayed outside and closed it. She heard the soft patter of the elf leaving down the hall and closed her eyes, preparing herself.

“What were you thinking?” Celene snapped.

Briala opened her eyes and saw that the Empress was standing. Anora was gone and she was still without her mask. She looked tired and furious, face flushed as she stepped towards her.

“You know that Anora idolizes her father. You could have ruined everything.”

Briala glared at her. “Don’t pretend you’re not pleased with yourself.”

“Pleased? What do I have to be pleased about? I was finally gaining ground with Anora and you go and—

“Gaining ground? Is that what you call it?”

Celene paused, confused, and it only enraged Briala further. “You all but flung yourself at her feet. Is that how you get all the nobles to do what you want? Beguile them because you have nothing else to offer? You’re nothing better than a tavern whore.”

Celene flushed, her jaw flexing as she clenched her teeth. “You will watch your tongue, Marquise.”

“Or what?”

“You have already said something you will regret. Don’t say any more.”

“You  _told her_. You told her you fancied women. She’s probably writing letters to the Council of Heralds as we speak, plotting your demise. But you didn’t notice because the queen has a fair face.”

Celene’s eyebrow rose, and Briala saw the ghost of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “I told her that to gain her trust. It does not behoove her to tell anyone and she knows it. Besides, the queen and I share the same goals. Is this truly what concerns you?” Celene allowed herself to laugh. “Anora is lovely. I do not deny it. But she is not you, and never could be.”

“Because I’m an elf.”

“Because I lo—

Celene stopped herself with a shake of her head. Briala nodded and took a step closer.

“You gave her so much, Celene. Supplies, tactics, promises. Things you’ve only ever offered me in the bedroom. Maker, how long I’ve been a puppet on your string.”

“That’s not true. I’ve let elven merchants into the markets, I’ve let them into the university, even sponsored them. I’m immersing them into noble culture. I have done more for the elves than any ruler before me and I plan to do more. Have your anger if you must, Briala, but do not lie to satisfy your mistakes.”

“ _My mistakes?_ ” Briala scoffed, nearing the Empress. “My only mistake was to trust you.”

Celene’s cheek pulsed once and Briala clenched her fists. “You convinced Anora to let me stay so you could tease your power in front of me. Two human women giving and taking as much as their hearts desired while the elves have to sit in the corner with their heads down. You wanted me to snap and I played right into your hand.”

“I did not convince Josephine to stand aside. I most certainly didn’t convince Anora to keep you in the room. And I have no control over what you say. Maker, I never have,” Celene hissed. She turned away from Briala and crossed her arms over her chest.

“You have always had the luxury of blaming me,” she said after a moment, running her teeth along her bottom lip. “As my spymaster, you killed at my command. As Lady Mantillon’s assassin, you were avenging the deaths I caused. As an ambassador for the elves, you’re avenging the injustice my people spawned.”

She faced Briala again, eyes piercing and more furious than Briala had ever seen. “But it is your hand at the end of the blade, Briala. Claim innocence and injustice and coercion all you want but the choice has always been yours. When are you going to stop using me as a crutch and take responsibility for what you’ve done?”

Celene’s eyes drifted down to Briala’s hand, where they lingered on the wound, the dried blood. “You assumed my intentions with Anora, you lost your temper, and  _you_  ruined your chances at speaking with her. For once, I cannot be blamed. And that hurts you, doesn’t it?”

She reached down at took Briala’s wounded hand. It trembled with rage in her grasp but Briala did not pull again. Celene studied it for a moment, then ran her thumb gently over the tear. Briala flinched.

“You are an elf. You will always be an elf. And though you will loathe to hear it, you have lived a life of certain privileges. Privileges such as satin nightgowns and silverite daggers. An education, protection, and a cushion for all of your vehement blows. But I cannot be your cushion any longer. And you will learn that when you hit something, often times it will hit back.”

Celene placed her lips against Briala’s knuckle, and felt the elf pull her hand out from underneath her. She wasn’t looking at Celene. Rather, her eyes were staring out the window at the darkening sky. What little of the sun reflected in her deep eyes and made them seem endless.

“I know how to hit, Celene,” she said finally.

The lividity was gone from her voice, but there was still anger underneath, and the Empress nodded. Briala continued to stare out the window, jaw set and nodding slowly.

“And if you will not help me, don’t stand in my way.”

She was still so angry. Celene wasn’t sure when Briala had become like this, or if it had always been there and she’d chosen to ignore it. Her sweet, gentle handmaiden who brushed her hair from the bottom up and whispered consoling words in a frightening, lonely darkness was nowhere to be seen. And Celene had molded her in this way. She taught her lie, to be invisible, to kill. She was following in Lady Mantillon’s footsteps more than she had ever known. A woman she hated as much as she feared. Briala turned to leave, hand on the door when she heard the Empress speak. Her voice was soft, like a final plea.

“I still plan to speak to Anora.”

She saw Briala tense, as if preparing herself for a blow, and she ignored the painful pulse in her chest. “I made you a promise. I intend to keep it. You’ve certainly made it more difficult, but I’ve found that I can be persuasive, if need be.”

She turned her head to the side and gazed at the map on the table, unable to witness Briala’s response. The elf turned from the door and Celene heard her coming closer. She felt tentative fingertips on her hand, and allowed it to be pulled into Briala’s. She knew what was coming. They had fought often enough throughout the years. When she won Briala would feel guilty and, in so many ways, beg for her forgiveness. A forgiveness that Celene did not deserve. She felt lips on her hand, a sickening reminder of the obeisance her title demanded.

“Celene,” Briala said softly.

The Empress knew she was about to apologize or say consoling words. And she didn’t have the stomach to hear them.

“Go,” she said softly, feeling Briala’s fingers stiffen around her hand. “Just go, Bria.”

Briala hesitated, waiting for Celene to give in. Celene studied the intricate lines of the map. Finally, her hand went cold as Briala let it go. There was the sound of the door opening and closing. And once again, the Empress was alone. 


	12. Chapter 12

Jader was only three times smaller than the capital, which made it very large indeed. It was a major thoroughfare for trade in Orlais with its close proximity to the sea and surrounding nations and the market was brimming from the mixture of nearby cultures. Fur traders from Ferelden bunched themselves in with surface dwarfs bearing wares from Orzammar. Rivaini trinkets shimmered and twinkled in the sun until they were shaded by Antivan silks that fluttered in the breeze. The smell of smoking meats intermingled with incense and foreign spices and made Briala’s head swim with a delightful buzz.

She strode through the market with her head held high, veridium mask shining as she gazed upon the various wares. She had seen all of this before and in even higher qualities, but there was a briskness to the market that put her at ease. Vendors shouting and buyers scurrying, multicolored paper packages laden in their arms. They moved quickly, but even their pace would be considered lazy from the violent jolt of Val Royeaux. As always, she could feel eyes upon her as she passed. Word had spread of an elven Marquise all throughout Val Royeaux and Briala kept her head held high even as onlookers regarded her as an oddity.

Seryl had followed in Celene’s footsteps and allowed certain, high quality elven merchants into the noble marketplace. Their shops were nestled between the dwarven merchants and the butcher. Briala recognized them instantly. Their fabrics weren’t soft, but they were durable and their jewelry wasn’t elaborate, but there was a care that went into their creation. Spiced tea filled her senses as she neared, one of the flavors Celene adored, and she sniffed lightly, giving a gracious smile to the vendor. Wrinkles carved themselves deeply around his eyes and mouth and his hair had long since turned gray. His eyes widened as she neared him and he gave a large grin, bowing lower than necessary before her.

“Marquise Briala of the Dales,” he greeted, though they had never met. “It is an honor.”

Briala shook her head, reaching out instead to grasp the man’s hand in a more familiar manner. “The honor is mine. I trust business is going well?”

He squeezed her hand reverently. “Splendidly, my lady. The nobles fear the sky and so they shop to get their minds off of it. Lady Seryl has allotted for new shops to be opened up down the block and I hear two of our merchants have been approached for this endeavor.”

“That’s wonderful. And how fares your trade?”

He smiled and bent his head nearer. Briala drew back just slightly to keep any intrigue from wandering eyes. Only nobility truly cared about the Game…and their spies.

“Variel arrived earlier this week with weapons. We’ve started training out in the forests. If the sky lets loose the demons, at least we won’t be completely defenseless. And Sammet told us to pass along word that he secured a few dwarven trade contracts. If all goes well on the surface, the Merchants Guild will start supplying elven goods to Orzammar.”

Briala reached out to one of the necklaces on display. It was a locket, empty on the inside for someone to place a token or a kind word. She traced the chain and swallowed.

“I trust you’re being careful with your practicing. Nothing good will come of being found in the woods with weapons.”

“Of course, my lady. We have scouts on the perimeter, and never meet in the same place twice.

“And what of armor?”

“Not yet, my lady.”

“I’ll see to it.”

The elves of Jader are forever grateful to you, Marquise.”

He sighed and looked her up and down. Briala was reminded of the first time her mother dressed her up for Celene. She had paraded out of the tiny single bedroom where she slept on the floor, new dress and hair up and braided. Her father had given her the same look and even at eight years old, Briala could feel the pride emanating from him. At the time it made her heart swell with elation. But now it only made her chest ache with guilt. Guilt that a luxury as simple as protection could spur a people years oppressed. Her back stiffened with tension that never seemed to go away, a pervasive ache to serve as a reminder of the burden on her shoulders.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” he marveled, squeezing her hand once more before letting it drop. “One of our people, a noble. You’ve made history, Marquise.”

Briala flashed him an easy smile. “Merely repeating history. Hopefully the outcome will fare better this time.”

“I don’t know how we can ever repay you.”

“Live. For me. For others.”

He nodded and gestured to his wares. “Please, Marquise, take anything you like. It would be an honor.”

Briala’s stomach turned but she glanced down anyway at the jewelry. She picked one at random and, despite his protesting, paid for it, depositing it into her pocket. Then she made her way down the other elven merchants, shaking hands and discussing business. People milled about her, some staring, some ignoring, but eventually, as she always did, Briala began to blend in. When she had finished her rounds, she made her way to the end of the market, turning right just past the salon with peeling yellow paint.

She found herself in an alleyway and felt for the blade inside her sleeve as she began to walk down it, hearing the noise from the market recede behind her. The alley ended at the large, ivy covered wall that protected Jader. It loomed high above her, covering the alley in shadow. Briala looked down and found the large crack in the sidewalk. She placed her heels on the crack, as instructed, then counted her steps as she began to walk next to the wall. When she reached her thirty third step, she looked around for any observers, then placed her hand against the ivy. Her steps were just slightly off, but she found the hole easily. She pretended to tend to the ivy, pushing it out of the way. With a final surreptitious glance, she slid gracefully through.

She had to maneuver through more vines on the other side, but soon she was outside of Jader with no one the wiser. She checked the ivy to make sure the hole was sufficiently hidden, then moved three steps to the right. Though she couldn’t see it, earth was loose beneath her feet and she began digging. Just as she’d instructed, a knapsack was buried in the dirt. It contained a suit of armor, supplies, daggers, and poison. Beneath the knapsack, wrapped in cloth, was a bow and quiver filled with arrows. Briala pulled her mask off and tucked it into the knapsack. She rolled her sleeves up and pulled the bow and quiver over her shoulder, slinging her knapsack over the other one. After one final check for guards, Briala placed her hand over the ruby in her pocket and made her way into the woods.

Her agent’s instructions were clear and simple, and when the sun was high in the sky she finally reached her destination. She was deep in the forest, somewhere nearer to Orzammer and the Frostbacks. She could still smell the sea intermingled with earth. Leaves danced in the wind, the constant rushing sound leaving her on edge and she felt sweat dripping down the back of her neck and onto her armor. But there it was, hidden by a tree with thick, dangling branches that swayed softly. She squinted her eyes and the light catch in the shadows, reflected back into her eyes. Magic seemed to swell within her, the ruby warm against her waist. It seemed to pull her towards it and she smiled as she made sure not to leave a trail.

The Eluvian was farther back than she had assumed, buried in a cave that seemed to be made of intertwining branches and ivy. It was likely that magic had caught her eye initially as opposed to the sun. She crept quietly through the passageway, keeping an eye out for any traps. It looked as if someone had been through recently, likely Variel or Sammet. She would have to caution them on being more discrete. When she reached the opening of the cave she paused to look around. It was a small room, likely something that was just to house the Eluvian. A bedroll was nestled in the corner and there were signs of a campfire. Briala studied the bedroll. It was not like the ones she supplied for her scouts but there was something familiar about it.

The bed roll was folded in an unusual manner and upon closer inspection, Briala could make out the Dalish embroidering around the edges. Her chest tightened in excitement and she quickly looked around the room, expecting Felassan to make one of his signature entrances. The room was silent around her. She glanced at the Eluvian for a moment and pressed her hand to it. The glass was smooth and cold beneath her touch, asleep because she had yet to give the passphrase. Felassan didn’t know the passphrase, so he couldn’t possibly be inside. He had likely set up camp here in hopes of seeing her… perhaps he was out hunting nearby.

Foregoing the Eluvian for the moment, Briala exited the cave and tried to follow the footsteps in the foliage. But there were too many, likely from her agents and Felassan, and all tracks soon disappeared into rocks, foliage, or branches. She searched until the shadows changed directions before giving up. Other than the campsite, there was no sign of human or elven life anywhere. Served her right, she thought. Felassan only made himself known when he wanted to, and she had wasted her day trying to change that. Briala sighed, wrenching the knapsack open with excess force. If she hurried, she could make it back inside Jader before dark. Hopefully the court, if anyone cared to look, would see her fatigue as contemplation.

 

* * *

 

Adele brought her sword up, feinted, then brought it back, bringing it across her would-be attacker’s face. The dummy bounced at the force and barely had time to recover before she brought it back down. Her sword was wooden, a leather dummy no match for her true blade, but it was lighter than she was used to. She tried to overcompensate and her arms burned with effort, sweat dripping down her cheek. She had pulled her dark hair into a braid, and felt heavy and hot against her back. She had shed her jacket and was left in just her tunic, breeches and boots. Still, the barn was stifling. But Adele welcomed the discomfort.

Serving the Empress was an honor, but given the current peaceful state of things, Adele didn’t want her skills to wane. She enjoyed the burning in her muscles, the rapid beating of her heart, the way her breathing made her throat hoarse. There was always improvement to be made, always the opportunity to be better. And when the Empress retired to her bedchambers for the evening, now was as good a time as any. She struck again and caught sight of red hair in her peripheral. She allowed her arms to fall and they did so limply, resting the sword against the dummy as Jenara stepped closer, mask dangling in her hand.

“Good evening, my lady,” Adele said as she turned to her. No doubt Jenara must have finished with getting Celene out of her gown and was, too, relieved from duty.

The elf watched in silence as Adele fetched a towel slung over a jutting nail and pressed it to her face. When she brought the towel away Jenara was closer, a cup of water extended to the chevalier. Adele smiled and took the cup, deciding to forego etiquette and drink it all. Jenara watched the column of Adele’s throat move up and down, bottom lip held fiercely tight in her teeth. When Adele finished she flashed a smile to Jenara, only to see that it wasn’t returned.

“Are you well?” Adele asked, reaching out to Jenara’s hand.

The elf looked nervously about the barn, assuring herself of the closed doors before she laced her fingers with Adele’s. The chevalier led her over to a small bench against the wall and they sat down in silence. Jenara could see Adele watching her from the corner of her eye, even though she tried to act nonchalant. Her concern made Jenara smile softly and she looked down at her feet that just barely touched the floor. Adele’s sweat mixed with the hay and horses in the barn, an earthen, simple scent, relaxed her. She liked seeing the chevalier’s hair down, as much as it could be. It was longer than she thought, and thick. For a moment her eyes darted to the tunic, soaked with sweat. Adele had pulled the sleeves up and Jenara studied the taut biceps that glistened in the soft glow of the lantern.

“You seem better,” she said finally, meeting the chevalier’s eyes. “Less…um…”

“Severe?” Adele offered and Jenara’s ear twitched. “I’m sorry for that. I handled my pride poorly, took it out on you and others. I shouldn’t have.”

Jenara shrugged and Adele squeezed her hand. “Something is troubling you.”

Jenara pursed her lips and began to swing her legs just slightly. “I’m not troubled.”

“No? Then who are you troubled for?”

She felt Adele squeeze her hand and took a deep breath. The Empress trusted them both completely. Should it not be so that they should trust each other completely as well? Jenara shook her head bitterly.

“The Marquise nearly ruined her majesty’s talks yesterday. She had to spend all of today placating the Queen and no ground was made.”

Adele thought back to the threats they had made to each other. Despite her overpowering strength and skill with a blade, Briala’s words had still made her blood turn cold. “The Marquise certainly is a formidable woman.”

“She is unworthy of her title.”

Adele turned her head at the words. She had never heard Jenara speak so bitterly, particularly of someone she thought the elf would admire. Briala may not be pleasant, but Adele had never thought her incompetent of her duties. It was her tip, after all, that saved the Empress from assassination. She traced her thumb along Jenara’s hand.

“You are most loyal to your Empress.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Jenara looked up at the chevalier, eyes wide. “Why what?”

Adele smiled, giving a gentle shrug. “Did she offer you something? Your parents?”

“Why is it that something must be demanded of the Empress before she receives kindness?” Jenara squeaked, voice cracking as she tore her hand from Adele’s and stood. “She brought peace upon Orlais, and culture. She fights wars with words and detests violence. She is…she is _kind_ , my lady…when she has no reason to be. She smiles, consoles me, consoles you, the Marquise. She reads reports day and night by dim candlelight and scarcely complains. Allows herself to be humiliated in front of the Queen of Ferelden for peace.”

She turned and met Adele’s widened eyes. “She takes the blame of our people, the nobles, Ferelden, all of Thedas, and carries it on her shoulders. Because it’s better for her to be hated than for good soldiers to die.”

It was quiet between them, save for Jenara’s rapid breathing. Adele kicked her boots out, settling against the back wall.

“It sounds like you idolize the Empress.”

Jenara thought for a moment, then shook her head. “She makes mistakes, just like we all do. I just…she needs one person on her side who isn’t looking to gain from her. We all need one person…maybe.”

Jenara blushed deeply, fiddling with her hands. Adele smiled and extended her hands. After a moment, Jenara stepped forward and placed her own in them. She kissed each of the elf’s hands and brought her back over to sit next to her.

“You are the kindest soul I have ever met. Please don’t ever change.”

Jenara’s ear twitched, her blush growing deeper as she looked down at the floor. Then she squeezed Adele’s hands and scooted closer to the chevalier.

“But…aren’t you loyal to the Empress? By more than just honor?”

“I’m honor bound to serve whoever is on the throne. But,” she added after seeing Jenara’s face fall, “I am glad it is Celene.”

She reached out then, dragging her knuckles down Jenara’s cheek. “Just don’t go putting your life on the line for her. That’s my job.”

Jenara trembled beneath her touch but leaned into her hand. “You don’t fear that? Giving your life for the Empress?”

“Not at all. For the Empire, for the Empress.”

“You would do anything for her.”

It wasn’t exactly a question, but Adele answered with a nod anyway. Jenara met her eyes before looking around the barn again. Adele watched as she leaned closer, and smiled as she shook her head.

“Jenara, I’m sweat—

The elf pushed past her weak defense and cut her off with a kiss. Adele felt her hands on her cheeks before they traveled down her neck. She wrapped her arms around Jenara’s small waist, pulling her into her lap. All the while the elf held fiercely tight to her tunic, balling it in her fists and pulling Adele as close as she could.


	13. Chapter 13

 

Celene awoke with a purpose this morning, rising the moment her eyes were open instead of lingering in bed with worry. It was not yet dawn and she pulled the curtains back to peer out on her Empire. She could not see the breach from her window, for which she was thankful. But she could see the pull of the dark clouds as they made their way towards it. It was daunting, but this time it did not deter her. Instead, it seemed to wake her as much as her first cup of tea usually did, clearing her mind and squaring her shoulders. She had wasted yesterday with Anora, placating the Queen and accepting the barbs Anora threw her way, whether they were about her or the Marquise. It had made her angry to hear such vitriol about Briala but the queen was decent enough to never bring up the fact that she was an elf, only the fact that she was an arse. A fact that Celene could not disagree with at this point.

She closed the curtains and rang the small silver bell that sat at her bureau, listening as one of the chevaliers at her door left to fetch Jenara. She brewed her first cup of tea with her enchanted tea pot, and was just taking the first sip as Jenara knocked twice on her door. She entered with a bowed head and closed the door behind her with a curtsy, Celene automatically nodding. As she did every morning, Jenara made her way to the bureau that held all of Celene’s gowns. Because they were traveling, there weren’t nearly as many as usual, but Celene still had enough dresses to where she could wear three a day and still not be seen in the same thing twice.

Celene finished her first cup rather inelegantly with Jenara’s back turned, then made her way to the basin, pouring the water slowly into the ornate bowl. She had bathed last night and put her hair into a loose braid. It was still intact when she woke, but a few strands had fallen out and she pushed them behind her ears before dipping her hands in the water.

“I wish to be Orlesian again,” she said to Jenara before pooling the water in her hands and bringing it to her face. “I can no longer afford to dance around Anora’s whims. A statement must be made, but not overtly so.”

Jenara didn’t respond but Celene could hear the rustling of fabric behind her. She finished washing her face and dried it gently with a towel, turning to see the gown Jenara had selected. It was a cranberry color with a high collar hemmed in black. The bodice had straight, thin, black stripes embroidered vertically, where they flared out into leaf-like designs onto the gown. White diamonds were also woven into the gown and accompanied the stripes and lined the exceedingly low bust. The low bust and high collar would make her elegant neck seem even longer and would bring out her jawline. The diamonds represented her wealth as well as her power. This gown came with a sacque at the back that flowed down and out to create a small train, also lined in black and diamonds. The sleeves fell off of her shoulders and left her arms exposed and Celene knew her pale skin would highlight the colors perfectly. She would seem powerful, opulent, and intimidating. It was perfect.

“Excellent choice,” she declared to Jenara, who dipped her head in response. “I don’t suppose we brought that mask that’s supposed to make an appearance this winter? The bent onyx one?”

Jenara nodded and fetched the mask, bringing it before the Empress. Celene took it, surprised at how light it was in her hand. A famous metalworker had forged it for the Empress in hopes of getting her to start a new trend with it. Onyx had been forged into small, malleable wire that was then molded and intertwined to resemble fine lace. Diamonds lined the corners of the eyes and jet black feathers adorned the sides of the mask and would rest against the side of her head when she applied it. It was light and cool against her face, unlike so many of her other masks which were heavy and humid. Celene nodded and set it next to the dress before heading back to her vanity.

Jenara followed dutifully, undoing Celene’s braid as the Empress sat down and running her fingers through it. She brushed the Empress’ hair before putting on the corset and dress. Once that was on she began to do Celene’s hair. Before Jenara had become the Empress’ personal handmaiden, she had been in charge of doing Celene’s hair and always did a masterful job. Today was no different as she bound Celene’s hair up in an intricate bun of overlaying curls surrounded by plaiting. When she applied her mask, the feathers swept up and around her hair, making her seem more like some ethereal creature than an Empress. Celene smiled into her reflection in the mirror and looked down at her bust, adjusting it slightly to make it just a bit more ample.

“What do you think?” she asked, standing from her vanity to regard Jenara.

The elf’s ear twitched and she lifted her head to examine the ensemble. Celene watched her swallow, eyes growing wider as she followed the gown up to the pale skin and wiry mask.

“You look beautiful, your majesty,” she said finally, and Celene could tell she was sincere.

Celene grabbed a black shawl from her bureau and draped it over her shoulders, covering the expanse of skin that enabled her striking visage and finished her second cup of tea. Jenara curtsied before her again.

“Will her majesty be having breakfast this morning?” she asked.

Celene moved to the window and pulled the curtain back. Getting ready had taken longer than usual, given her elaborate hair, and the sun was now risen, lighting up the garden beneath her. Anora would be expecting her soon. She still had time to eat, but if she didn’t, it would make her all the more capricious, and might catch Anora off guard.

“No, I don’t think I will,” she said finally. “But I would like another cup of tea.”

As Jenara poured, Celene headed to the jewelry box that was placed upon the vanity. She opened it, and pulled out the long gold chain that had become a customary accessory. She switched the pendant from the gold chain to silver and draped it over her neck, feeling complete when she tucked the pendant into her bosom and traced the chain with her finger.

 

* * *

 

Anora sat stiffly on the couch as she studied the map in front of her. She was growing quite tired of this room, of the same sights over and over again. She never thought she’d embrace Orlesian fashion, but at least Celene’s extravagant gowns provided something new for her eyes to gaze upon as they talked. Their talks were now a day behind thanks to the Marquise. Two, if Anora counted their first meeting which consisted almost solely of petty bickering. Celene had been practically effusive in her apologies—as far as Orlesian apologies went— yesterday which only seemed to instigate Anora further. She had never quite gotten used to anyone insulting her father, and for the Marquise to be so brazen when she should have never been in the room at all sent her over the edge. Particularly because, before the Marquise’s interruption, she thought her talks with Celene to be going well.

Who knew where they were now. Anora wondered how she appeared to Celene. Her temper had flared yesterday, spurred by Celene’s sympathetic face, a rare sight when it came to discussing her father. She was weak to have given into her, to have vented and demanded as she did. Celene would no doubt make her pay for it today. Anora would have done the same in her position. She only hoped that the Empress continued to see reason and use her elevated position to further the talks, not their own personal conflicts.

Anora had tried to reflect that seriousness in her attire. Her dress was a bit more elegant than she was used to, a soft yellow color with eight pointed stars embroidered along the gown in periwinkle. The jacket was periwinkle as well with yellow stars instead. It seemed odd to her to mix up colors so, but it did look nice and not at all Orlesian. Rather it appeared to be Ferelden’s attempt at high fashion. Her hair was up in a braided bun, curled strands dangling next to her cheeks. She wanted to make a point to Celene that she could give as good as she got, and whatever the Empress chose to do today, Anora was prepared for it.

The door opened and Anora stood automatically as Celene’s small elf entered the room. Anora quite liked Celene’s handmaiden. She was quiet and unobtrusive and made a splendid tea. She bowed low to Anora before stepping to the side to allow Celene through. When she saw her, Anora realized she was not at all prepared.

Celene had slowed her walk behind Jenara, timing her steps so that she would not appear before the door until it was already opened. She turned and stepped inside quickly, head held high as she regarded the queen. Anora’s eyes widened in spite of herself and she quickly closed them as she dipped her head. Celene could see the pink tint to her cheeks beneath her mask and smiled widely, removing her shawl as soon as Anora’s eyes opened.

She extended the shawl to Jenara, acutely aware of the fact that Anora’s eyes had delved lower to the expanse of cleavage she showed. She pretended not to notice and sat down on the couch, Anora following suit. She studied Anora’s gown, the small twinkling stars, and guessed that the queen was trying to make a point as well. She was dressed just a bit more refined than she had the past few days. Perhaps they were both just as serious to continue. As had become customary between them, Celene removed her mask and set it by her side, Anora following suit. She lifted her eyebrows to Anora as she gestured for Jenara, the queen giving a nod. Jenara poured two cups of tea and the women drank in silence for a few peaceful moments.

“You look…quite nice,” Anora said first, lifting her cup towards Celene.

“As do you.”

“It appears we have something in common.”

“You know what they say about great minds.”

Celene smiled and Anora returned it, setting her teacup on the side table next to the couch. “I have given some thought to your trade deal. While it’s a generous offer, surely Ferelden can offer something more substantial to make it seem less one sided.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well…”

Celene allowed herself to sigh happily before the queen. They had established new trade deals and agreed upon troops and supplies for when the Inquisitor was ready to move. They had even drawn up a rough draft of an extensive peace treaty to be looked at with their advisors. It went better than she had expected. Anora was cold, but not ignorant, and she knew the necessity of these talks just as much as Celene did. Anora allowed herself to relax just the slightest into the couch. For the moment, they could both breathe a sigh of relief. Celene could do nothing about the hole in the sky, but she could do something about supplies and troops and neighboring countries. For the first time since she reclaimed the throne, the Empress felt worthy of her title.

Jenara appeared by her side with a fresh cup of tea, and Celene’s relative moment of peace dwindled away. She graced Jenara with a smile, the elf blushing as she resumed her spot against the wall, and caught Anora’s eye.

“I understand your University is doing splendidly,” she said before taking another sip. “Education is the hallmark of advanced culture.”

“Yes, my people are beginning to understand that. Enrollment is higher than ever.”

“Perhaps we should consider an exchange program.”

Anora’s eyebrow rose at the thought, her eyes becoming distracted as she worked out Celene’s words. The Empress realized that she had been too blunt in her approach, had gotten too complacent, and the queen had seen right through her.

“You’ve started allowing elves into your University, correct?”

“Correct.”

“I was saddened to hear about that Sulemahd fellow. Dignitaries spoke of his works with high regard when they returned from his gala. I had actually hoped to invite him to speak at the University in Denerim. But perhaps now is not the time for such things.”

Celene nodded indifferently. Anora was giving her a chance to drop the subject. But she had made a promise. So instead she steeled herself and smiled politely at the queen.

“There is never an opportune time for change. That is why people fear it.”

“You sound like the Marquise.”

“You have not yet spoken to the Marquise.”

“Nor do I plan to.” Anora held up a hand as Celene began to respond, her fingers falling in an apology of sorts as the Empress flashed her a challenging glare. “It has nothing to do with her behavior the other day, as abhorrent as it was. Rather, I cannot expend resources on the betterment of our society when there might not be a society to better in the coming days.”

“Your majesty, if you’re made to be seen improving the lives of the elves then you have the potential of another army at your disposal.”

Anora chuckled. “Tell me, how many elves are in your army, your radiance? Or are you relying solely on those who have followed the Marquise?”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Yes, and it started a civil war.”

Anora sighed, looking down into her teacup. Jenara, ever observant, took it from her to refill and Celene saw the queen flash a smile to Jenara’s turned back. When she brought the cup back, Anora took it and thanked her. Jenara blushed profusely, ear twitching as she nodded and backed into the corner.

“I am sympathetic, Celene,” she said finally, her shoulders falling. “I had to crush an uprising of my own and the repercussions were severe. Not quite as severe as you endured but…. Is it not a more powerful statement to go about bringing up the elves after we have won this war? No one will desire violence and they might be more...pliable.”

Celene took a drink of her own tea to buy herself some time. Anora was not going to back down. Her patience with the matter was also waning. Celene could see the strain in her neck before she calmed herself, a telltale sign that the queen was close to snapping. If she snapped, they would likely be back to square one. Whether she liked it or not, Briala was under the order of the Empress. Celene didn’t have to gain that from her, at least in title. But if she pushed Anora too hard, it could undo all that they’ve worked towards today. She felt a twinge of pain in her breast at the thought of having to tell Briala, but squared her shoulders anyway, meeting Anora’s eyes with a confident stare.

“Have I your word on that, Anora? The Empress of Orlais and the Queen of Ferelden uniting together to better the elves? It will make quite the statement for Thedas, and we will need to support one another during the inevitable uprising.”

Anora looked her over, studying the Empress’ expression. She stood, and Celene followed suit, watching as Anora crossed the table and made her way over. She stood in front of Celene, just a hair taller, and the two women regarded each other cautiously. This was bigger than what either of them had imagined for these talks. The promise of being a united front of culture and equality, fighting together against any who opposed them. Celene’s people would be furious, as would Anora’s. But they were used to such things. Celene watched as Anora’s eyes dipped to her chest for a moment, the queen giving a hint of a smile. It wasn’t flirtatious. Rather, it seemed like acceptance. Accepting the Empress for who she was, what she had done, and what they were going to do. Celene dipped her eyes in the same manner and gave the same smile.

Anora stuck out her hand, like so many noble men did, and Celene took it firmly. They shook once, fingers sliding along each other’s palms as they let go. Anora smiled and Celene returned it, though she did not feel it as strongly as she would have liked to. They parted ways shortly after that, Celene heading to her room with Jenara following closely behind. It was late afternoon and likely that dinner was being served. Celene’s stomach ached with hunger, but she couldn’t risk seeing Briala and not telling her. So much had been ruined on secrets kept. Briala was certain not to like this one, but Celene would not keep it from her.

“Fetch the Marquise,” she instructed to Jenara. “Then you’re free until I summon you.”

She heard an intake of breath and tilted her head at the elf, who bowed her head. “Yes?”

“W-would her majesty like something to eat as well?”

Celene allowed a sincere smile to grace her face, knowing Jenara couldn’t see it. “No, thank you,” she said kindly. “Perhaps after my visit with the Marquise.”

Jenara nodded, bowed again, and left the room. Celene’s scalp was starting to ache from the tightness of her bun, to say nothing of the ever present pain in her temples. The gown had worked wonders, but it was heavy and itchy and she ran a hand along her bare arm before tracing the chain of her necklace once more.

 

* * *

 

 

Briala couldn’t help but allow the slightest glimpse of hope to flicker in her chest as she followed Jenara down the hall. She knew that the Empress was meeting with the queen again today, and her spies had confirmed that it had gone far better than yesterday, given that they did not hear any screaming as they perused the hall. Jenara seemed content to keep her head down in her presence, no doubt in an attempt to conceal something. Briala took that as a good sign too, as it was clear the elf did not like when she got her way. She ran over ideas in her head as she walked. What she would say to Anora, how she would handle that deleterious temper.

When they turned down the western wing, Briala realized that the chevaliers were not stationed at Celene’s door, but rather across the grand hall. Celene often stationed the guards across the hall when they had to discuss something privately. In Val Royeaux the chevaliers had learned to stand there to begin with to keep the Empress from tiring herself at having it mentioned so. Jenara knocked twice on the door, opening it at Celene’s beckoning. She bowed low and stepped to the side to allow Briala in.

Celene was at the window, and she turned at their entrance. Briala’s breath caught at the sight of the Empress in a gown she had never seen before. It brought out her pale skin and elongated her neck. Her jaw appeared sharper around the collar, and though the once curled strands around her face had since gone limp, they still defined her face beautifully. Briala barely heard the door shut behind them, her eyes following the gleaming silver chain down the Empress’ chest and into her bosom, which was quite ample.

Celene crossed her arms shyly over her chest and Briala swallowed, the flicker of hope dying out. For the Empress was not shy about her body, and that was not what she was trying to conceal. Seeing that Celene’s mask was off, Briala removed hers, tossing it weakly onto the bed.

“You spoke to Anora.”

It was not a question. Celene knew it as such but nodded anyway. “We will…work together to make life better for the elves after the situation with the breach is resolved.”

Briala gave a sad smile. “After. That’s a favored word among you humans. You can eat,  _after_ me. You can sleep,  _after_  you’ve done your chores, you can be an equal in the world,  _after_  the war is over. As close as tomorrow, but all the same never here.”

Celene gave a slight nod. “Yes but we promised—

“Your promises are just the same!” Briala snapped. “Empty lies. I’m not falling for that anymore, Celene.”

“Briala, I tried to speak to her. She was unrelenting.”

“So you had to yield? To a dog queen? Must not have been much of a fight.”

Celene’s eyes darkened. “She will not speak with you during her time here.”

“Did you two promise that amongst each other as well?”

The Empress opened her mouth to snap back, then reconsidered. “You had a right to know. There’s nothing more I can say.”

“That’s the problem, Celene. There’s always more to say. You’re just too much of a coward to say it. Will you leave your window open for punishment as well?”

Celene flinched at the words in spite of herself, and Briala looked away. Tears pressed at her eyes but she would not cry in front of the Empress. She had taken too much from her. Always teasing her with the prospect of fortune only to snatch it away at the last moment. Her chest began to heave with effort at keeping herself calm. Now she and Anora were closer than ever. Briala closed her eyes, tried to keep the images of Anora and Celene together out of her mind. Tried to ignore the reasoning behind Celene’s extravagant gown and who she was trying to impress. They didn’t care about elves. She would have to make them…somehow.

In her peripheral, she saw Celene’s hand go to her necklace, tracing the chain. It was a nervous tick, a new one, and she turned and eyed the Empress carefully. Celene dropped her hand slowly, inconspicuously, but it was not enough. Briala stepped forward, her hand reaching out to Celene’s neck. She saw the Empress swallow nervously, and goosebumps arose as Briala traced her dark finger down the chain.

“Don’t,” Celene urged, her voice desperate.

Briala’s hand ran over her breasts and into the gown, where she pulled out the locket. She held it in her hand, studying the familiar design and remembering all the times she had seen Celene wearing this very chain. It was a stupid move, something that would obviously be seen as sentimental by the court, and an exploit. She hated the way it made her heart race. Briala dropped the locket, wiping her hands as she turned away.

“You think sentimentality makes it better?” she asked quietly. “That memories can soothe any wound? I won’t fall for it, Celene.”

Tears lined the Empress’ eyes, and when she blinked they fell. She looked ashamed, and Briala didn’t know what for. A pale hand went up to the locket and clutched it tightly.

“I don’t wear it for you,” she gritted out, trying to keep her voice level. “I wear it as a reminder of what I fight for, promises to be kept.” She sighed, and pulled the necklace over her head. “But it seems even this was not enough.”

Briala felt Celene coming closer. The Empress made no attempt to turn her around, but she did press the necklace into Briala’s hand. A gift of love, returned. Briala gripped it tightly, wishing her skin would break like it had against Mantillon’s hairpin. But the edges were too soft. Celene then made her way over to the window, and Briala watched as she unlocked it, closing the curtains afterward. Briala never visited Celene’s bed when they traveled. It was far too dangerous. But that didn’t mean that Briala never idly wondered how she would go about it. She had plans in all of the major estates that she had devised to pass the time. Here, there was a large tree near Celene’s window. If she were careful enough, she could climb up until she reached the lattice, then climb that until she reached the Empress’ window and climb inside. Celene must have devised those same kinds of plans and Briala felt her chest aching.

“Ferelden will provide us with aid when the Inquisition is ready to strike,” Celene said, her voice calmer now. “We made great progress today.”

“Yes,” Briala sighed. “I’m sure you did. For some, anyway.”

The elf turned without bowing and stepped out of the door. She left it open as she exited, and the chevaliers across the hall shifted uncomfortably. Celene stepped towards the door and closed it after her, leaning against it for support. When she had collected herself, she summoned Jenara, who returned with a tray of food despite the Empress’ orders, and Celene picked at it while her hair was let down. She bathed quickly, desperate to be alone, and excused Jenara as soon as she was able, managing a kind smile in her direction. When Jenara left, the mabari walked in and Celene found she was too tired to dismiss it. As alone as she could be, Celene climbed into bed and willed herself to sleep, desiring to be part of this day no more.

 

* * *

 

“Celene.”

The Empress’s eyes shot open. Darkness engulfed her and she tried to keep her breathing even. The dog was growling at the edge of her bed, a sound so dark it made her hair stand on edge. She squinted into the darkness, forcing her breathing to remain even as she tried to figure out who was in the room with her.

“Celene, the dog.”

It was Briala. The Empress sat up and peered near the window. Briala was not behind the curtain, but she was against the wall where the dog had her pressed. She looked nothing more than a shadow. Celene could see its white teeth glinting in the light, daring Briala to make a move.

“Down,” Celene whispered harshly, pointing to the corner.

Prudence gave another growl, ear flickering to Celene to imply acknowledgement. But she kept her position. Celene crawled to the edge of the bed and gave a gentle slap to the dog’s rump, just enough to break its concentration. Prudence jumped and finally looked to her master. Celene ordered her to the corner again and the dog obeyed, though she continued to growl softly, eyes never leaving Briala. Briala sighed as the dog was called away, her heart easing back to its normal pace. Celene was silent as she collected herself, no doubt concerning herself with why the elf was here in the first place.

Briala reached out for the edge of the bed. She could tell by Celene’s searching eyes that it was too dark for her. Blue eyes focused intently on Briala, unable to see anything. Briala could see the fear Celene thought the darkness concealed and reached out to her. Celene allowed her hand to travel up her body, gaining a sense of where she was. Briala could feel her trembling just slightly beneath her touch. She traced Celene’s stomach, chest, and shoulder, before finally finding her hand. Celene swallowed as she felt Briala reach for something, likely a dagger or a vial of poison she would willingly ingest. Then she felt cool metal press against her palm.

It was the locket, unmistakable by Celene. The Empress closed her fingers around it and felt Briala’s hand rest on top of hers. Briala was close and Celene could just barely make out her face in the darkness. When she spoke, her breath was warm on her cheek.

“This locket is a promise,” Briala said. “It was a promise when I gave it to you. And it’s one that I can’t seem to go back on.”

Briala watched Celene close her eyes and felt a teardrop land on her hand. “Don’t,” she urged again, like she had so many hours before.

“Celene, I—

“Please,” Celene whispered, her voice breaking and leaving her with a whisper. “Please, Bria, I cannot lose you again.”

“You won’t.”

“Don’t—

Briala hushed her, placing her hand to Celene’s cheek, her thumb running across the wetness that lingered there. She leaned forward, her lips touching Celene’s for just a moment before the Empress turned her head, her body shaking with muted sobs. Briala cupped her other cheek and turned Celene’s head slowly. The Empress obeyed and when Briala kissed her again, Celene responded. She was still tense and Briala could feel her heart racing as she traced her fingers down her neck. She moved forward, pushing the Empress back down onto the pillows, never breaking their kiss. 

She hummed softly into Celene’s mouth, hoping to ease to her worries. Celene’s chest still heaved occasionally with residual sobs and Briala hushed her softly, running her hands over the Empress’ favorite spots. Celene gasped when she felt Briala’s hand on her knee, fingers tracing up her thigh. Briala kissed her again and when she finally felt Celene’s arms come around her she knew she had won. She smiled into Celene's lips, the sound of the dog growling in the corner fading from her mind.


	14. Chapter 14

Celene awoke to fingertips. They skimmed gently over her bare chest in random designs, occasionally drifting upward to dance along her shoulders. It felt wonderful and she kept her eyes closed as her skin came alive beneath her touch. Conspicuously, she pulled the sheets further down, exposing her stomach. She heard Briala’s quiet laugh before the fingers went lower, tracing the curves of her breasts before spanning the length of her stomach. Celene stretched, feeling the fingers splay themselves across her now taut muscles.

Lips pressed against her jaw, kissing upward towards her ear. Celene gave a content hum as the hand on her stomach wrapped around her waist, pulling her close and holding her tight. She turned her head and met Briala’s lips as she sank back into the bed. Birds were beginning to chirp outside, and the dog’s loud breathing could be heard from the corner. It would be so simple to fall into the fantasy of normalcy.

“I have to leave soon,” Briala whispered, lips brushing against hers as she spoke.

In response, Celene turned her back to the elf, pulling the covers up and nestling back into the pillows. She gave a tiny smile as she heard Briala laugh again before leaning against her back. Her arm came around the Empress’ waist again, as Celene knew it would, and lips returned to her skin.

“Pouting will get you nowhere, majesty.”

“An empress does not  _pout_ ,” Celene answered indignantly, opening her eyes and leaning back against Briala to find her face.

As always, she looked beautiful in the morning. Her curls were wild and frizzy and her skin was always warm and soft. But the best part of Celene’s mornings with Briala were those eyes. So vast and dark and deep in the morning she often felt lost by looking into them. And in that moment of displacement, there was peace. In that moment she was not an empress, not anyone. She was just a woman in love with someone who somehow loved her back. It was that morning glance that willed her feet to the floor every day.

“Maybe not an empress,” Briala said between kisses to her shoulder, “But  _Celene_  has certainly turned it into an art.”

Celene turned to lie on her back once more, arms coming around Briala to pull her closer. They kissed slowly, hands remapping skin that had once been memorized. Briala broke the kiss first and flashed Celene a sympathetic smile.

“How are you?”

Celene swallowed, her hand idly running down Briala’s arm. “I was certain you would kill me last night.”

Briala frowned. “I would never, Celene, despite what you’ve done.”

“Yes, I suppose death is too merciful.”

Briala looked away and Celene nodded even as she felt the elf’s arms tighten around her. “You know I will not be able to push you away again. It was hard enough once.”

“I know.”

Briala moved to rest on top of the Empress, Celene holding her hair back as they kissed again. It was so easy to fall back into the way things were. She knew where to touch, where to kiss, and Celene did as well. Years of the same person, and they never tired of each other, never grew bored. It frightened the elf slightly and she shivered on top of Celene. Celene gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze, somehow knowing that her tremble wasn’t from arousal, and Briala pulled away. Celene’s eyes were bright and intense beneath her and she had to look away.

“I will work towards bettering the elves. I prom—

“It doesn’t matter, Celene. What’s done is done. All we can do is move forward.”

Briala rolled off of her and sat up, bringing her knees to her chest. Celene marveled at the way the cream sheets contrasted against her dark skin. She had never known Briala to give up. She’d also never known her not to hold onto a grudge. Had she finally worn her down so much that she killed the tenacity she so admired? The thought made her heart race, her throat going dry as she sat up as well. She reached out and touched Briala’s shoulder, pleasantly surprised when the elf leaned against her.

“You’re oddly…calm about this,” Celene mentioned as she pressed a kiss to Briala’s head.

Briala chuckled. “I’m furious. But anger gets me nowhere. Only action.”

“I see. And what action are you planning?”

Briala shrugged and turned to kiss Celene’s cheek. “Despite my efforts, elves are still invisible. I have to make us to where we cannot be ignored.”

“As a threat?”

“As a _people_.”

Celene nodded slightly. Her first reaction was to offer support, but even though she felt the sincerity within her own breast, Briala would see it as hollow. And she could not blame her for that.

“I see,” she said finally. “And, what of me? Of us?”

Briala felt her hand tighten just slightly on her arm, a plea, and closed her eyes. “In some ways you were right. I cannot rely on you for everything. If I want something done, I’ll have to do it myself. That’s how you got your title. That’s how Queen Anora got hers. You…” she paused and turned to Celene, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek. “You are just…my love.”

Celene gave a sad smile and brought her hand up to cover Briala’s. “As you are mine.”

Briala felt an ache rising in her chest and she fought it down by kissing the Empress again. Celene made to pull her back down onto the bed, and Briala gave a short whimper of protest against Celene’s mouth. The Empress’ arms dropped instantly and she broke the kiss, looking at Briala curiously. It was almost identical to the first time they’d made love, when Briala had a moment of fear. Celene had relented instantly, that same curious look turning into a smile as she assured Briala that it was fine. She had even left the bed entirely to make tea, though looking back on it now, Celene had probably done it to make Briala feel more comfortable. And regardless, it had worked in her favor, as the sight of the Empress naked and bathed in the glow of the fire had silenced Briala’s fear and spurred her eagerness to continue.

She flashed Celene a soft smile, head tilting towards the window behind her. “I have to go.”

 Celene nodded, watching as Briala slid off the bed. Prudence rose at the gesture and growled for just a moment before immediately being hushed by Celene. Briala watched as the dog looked imploringly at her master before reluctantly laying back down. Once Celene was satisfied, however, Prudence went back to watching Briala, never blinking as she dressed, her lips snarling against the ground. Once dressed, Briala shared a final, longing look with Celene before heading out the window.

It was still dark, and she climbed confidently down the lattice, reaching the tree with ease. The moment her feet touched the ground, Briala breathed a sigh of relief. Leaving was always the worst part, and though she cherished her time with Celene, there was a certain ease that came with not getting caught.

“Good morning, Marquise?”

Briala could not stop herself from jumping and she cursed herself as she turned around to face Lady Seryl. She was already dressed, sitting on a nearby bench almost as if she’d been waiting for her. Briala swallowed and kept her head held high.

“Lady Seryl. You’re up early.”

“Always am. Particularly if something interesting is afoot.”

“I see. Well, enjoy—

“Oh don’t give me that. Sit down.” Seryl patted the spot next to her, the sound of her hand smacking the stone echoing throughout the courtyard.

Briala glanced around the garden. From what she could see, there didn’t seem to be any guards in sight. If there were, they likely couldn’t see her and wouldn’t have seen her leaving the Empress’ bedroom. Still, it was obvious that Lady Seryl knew even before she began her climb, and the idea filled her with worry as she sat.

Seryl nodded as Briala joined her and turned to her other side, bringing out a pipe. They were silent as she packed the pipe and lit it, inhaling deeply. Briala smelled tobacco and possibly a hint of opium. She turned and watched Seryl exhale, wondering how in the world Seryl could still be competent with all of her vices. Seryl glanced Briala’s way and extended the pipe to her, shrugging with the Marquise shook her head.

“So, you and Celene finally made up, eh?”

Briala thought for a moment about playing dumb, but Seryl was not one for the Game on a good day, so she merely sighed, letting Seryl take it as she wished. Seryl harrumphed approvingly, tipping her pipe to the Empress’ window in an homage of sorts.

“Good. She doesn’t need any more distractions. Well…any negative distractions, anyway.”

Seryl chuckled and nudged Briala, who tensed at the action. It did not go unnoticed by Seryl, who cast her eye suspiciously in Briala’s direction. “That wasn’t a threat, Marquise…but it can be. Does it need to be?”

“I…I am not used to speaking of this in public,” Briala answered, dipping her head slightly.

Seryl scoffed. “Celene’s the same way. Do you two actually rut or do you just murmur sweet nothings in each other’s little virginal ears? Nothing shameful about a little sex. Or a lot of sex.”

“I beg to differ when one is an empress and the other an elven woman.”

Seryl lifted her eyebrows in agreement. “Fair enough. Though I suppose love helps it along.” She whistled loudly. “It’s been, what, 20 years?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, you don’t have to tell me that the Empress is someone special. And she’s been through quite a shit storm. I’d hate for anything else to happen to her while she deals with this blasted sky hole.”

Briala kept her face calm and met Seryl’s gaze. “I thought you weren’t threatening.”

“I’m not. But as I said, I will. If need be.”

“Celene cannot put my needs above her people. Just as I cannot put hers above mine.”

They studied each other for a moment, Seryl taking another smoke from her pipe. When exhaled out of the corner of her mouth, keeping the smoke from blowing directly into Briala’s face, which the elf took as a good sign. Finally, Seryl nodded and turned to face the garden. Briala allowed herself relax.

“Say, I’ve a question,” she said after a moment, coughing on her pipe at her excitement. “Celene wouldn’t answer this. My page, Llowen, gets the jitters when I rub his ears in bed—

“Your page?”

“Yes. He’s my first elf. Anyway—

“Be sure to put him back after you use him,” Briala remarked bitterly.

Seryl waved her away with her hand. “Don’t bunch your dress up your ass. I don’t use him. I’m quite fond of him. And he seems quite fond of me. In fact, if anyone’s using anyone—

“What is…” Briala finished through clenched teeth, “your question?”

“Right, right. Ears. Elf ears specifically. Are they arousing or do they just tickle? He doesn’t tell me anything. Too worried about displeasing me but let me tell you,” she gave a low whistle, “there is  _nothing_  displeasing about that boy.”

Briala’s cheeks reddened in spite of herself and Seryl scoffed as she noticed. “There you go blushing and flustered again. I’ll never get an answer with you two cloister sisters.”

“They’re sensitive, Seryl, if you must know.”

Seryl raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “How sensitive?”

Briala licked her lips, eyes darting for a moment up to Celene’s bedchamber. She didn’t like Seryl’s condescending attitude, but was it worth the risk to try and win the back and forth between them? Seryl tapped her pipe against the bench impatiently and Briala threw caution to the wind.

“If Celene were to touch my ear in front of the visiting Queen of Ferelden and all of her dignitaries, I would still throw her on the table and have her right there.”

Seryl’s eyes widened in shock, but was short lived as she threw her head back in a loud guffaw, hand slapping her thigh as she wiped her eyes with her pipe.

“ _That’s_  what I like to hear, Marquise,” she said once she’d calmed down. Then her eyes narrowed in on Briala’s, a smirk at the corner of her mouth. “Do it.”

Briala bit back a grimace and stood. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Tempt you? Andraste’s tits, I’m  _begging_  you. The look on Anora’s face. Probably more upset that she can’t join in than anything.” She reached out and took Briala’s hand and she laughed again.

Briala pulled it gently from her grasp and managed a stiff smile. She left Lady Seryl and made her way back to her own chambers, listening to the woman's cackling at she went.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! The amazing artist sasseffect drew a picture of Jenara! As well as a cute comic with the entire little family. Be sure to check it out and give it the praise it deserves!
> 
> http://sasseffect.tumblr.com/post/131296009951/jenara-jocelyntorrents-tiny-tiny-baby-from-her

Upon returning to her bedchambers, Briala quickly discovered another letter placed upon her pillow. It was in the same hand as before and she smiled as she read over Felassan’s words. He had seen her snooping around his campsite and watched from afar as she made a fool of herself trying to find him. It was entertaining, if nothing else, but she knew better than to call upon him before he was ready. Thankfully for her, he was ready now, and told her that if she returned to the Eluvian he would be waiting.

She gave a knowing nod at the words as if she were speaking to him and folded the letter back up. She placed it in her drawer beneath a multitude of boring documents and decided to climb back into bed. She didn’t get much sleep, after all. Seeing Felassan would bring her much joy, but she had other matters that needed tending to first. Matters that she knew Felassan would wholeheartedly disapprove of. But it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.

Celene, too, had stayed in bed after Briala left, but only until the elf’s warmth left the bed. Then she rose and smoothed the bed over on one side as she always did after Briala left. She checked her body over in the mirror for any signs that could lead to gossip. Prudence, thankfully calmer and quieter now, left her corner and sat by the Empress’ side. Celene examined her thigh in the mirror, noting the red scratch marks that fell between various scars. Briala was always as gentle as could be, but Celene’s fair skin did not seem to care and she traced a finger over one of the marks, her hand brushing against Prudence’s head as she finished.

Prudence seemed to take that as Celene’s admission of undying love and nuzzled her head against the Empress’ leg. Celene tensed and took a quick step back, eyeing her leg warily for signs of dog. When she heard Prudence give a soft whimper, Celene lifted her head to find the dog had lowered hers, ears straight back in apology. She continued to whimper softly and Celene sighed, reaching out to place her hand on top of the dog’s head. The Prudence’s credit, if there was such a thing, the dog did not react to her touch and continued to whimper sadly. Celene knew she was being played mightily, but she also knew that rejection was cruel. And she knew all too well the feeling of being unworthy of kindness.

“They say you mabari can understand our words beyond common command,” she said softly.

Prudence stopped whimpering, her eyes lifting to meet Celene’s.

“Can you understand this, then?” she asked, crouching to be at the dog’s level. Her fur was softer than she imagined, though she loathed to think of how her hand would smell when she pulled it away and shuddered at the thought. “You cannot just slobber all over me when you desire affection, nor Jenara. You nearly frightened the poor girl to death. If you wish to remain in my good graces you must be on your best behavior. I will give affection when I can and however I wish. If that does not suit you, Anora’s room is just down the hall.”

Prudence blinked twice, then pushed her head up into Celene’s hand. Celene’s eyes narrowed. “And stop growling at the Marquise.”

Prudence only growled in response. Celene’s hand stilled on her head before she realized that Prudence was, in her own way, giving Celene her answer. The Empress dropped her hand to her side and studied the beast in front of her.

“You don’t like the Marquise.”

Prudence met her eyes again, a low rumble resonating from her throat. As much as she hated to admit it, the dog was intimidating. And a part of Celene found herself thankful that such a formidable beast was at her side. Mabaris were far less discerning of threats than humans, after all. And if they were as loyal as the Fereldens claimed, then she truly had nothing to fear.  

“Well, I suppose that’s too bad for you,” Celene said as she stood and put her nightgown back on. She rang her summoning bell and looked back down at Prudence who appeared to still be thinking of the Marquise, lip raised in a snarl.

“If you must make your point will you at least do so in private?”

Prudence stopped growling and opened her mouth to pant happily. The Empress sighed, letting the subject drop as Jenara and a few other servants entered to prepare her bath. Celene dismissed them all but Jenara and if the elf was suspicious as to why, she made no showing of it. Jenara made to step towards the bathroom that was at the end of the suite, stopping short as she came in front of Prudence, her eyes wide. Celene watched Jenara visibly pale and cast a sideways glance at the dog.

Prudence looked up at her, then bowed her head and moved to the side to allow Jenara through. The elf ran past her quickly, but Prudence kept her head down until she was safely in the bathroom. She began to pant again when Jenara was gone and looked expectantly up at Celene. The Empress rewarded her by sliding her hand over Prudence’s head once, and it seemed to be enough. Prudence, short tail wagging vigorously, made her way over to her corner and laid down, content.

Celene busied herself with pulling her hair into a loose braid as Jenara heated buckets of water and poured them into the large porcelain tub. The Empress had brought her own soaps and she sighed as she soon smelled the familiar scents of honeysuckle and rose emanating from the room. She entered before Jenara summoned her, and surprised the elf by lifting her night gown over her head and making her way towards the steaming tub with no regard to the privacy screen in the corner. She dipped her hand in the water and watched Jenara from her peripheral. The elf had drawn her bath many a time, as had several other servants. But normally when Celene entered she disrobed behind the privacy screen and the servants kept their heads dipped as she entered, lifting it only when she summoned them for more soap or hotter water.

Jenara looked her over for a moment, eyes wide as she tried to figure out just what it was that the Empress was doing. Celene suppressed a smile and idly ran her hand down the marks on her thigh as she swirled the bubbles. Jenara’s eyes found what Celene was hoping for, and the Empress watched as Jenara understood. Her eyes widened for just a moment at her revelation before her shoulders fell, relaxing as she backed up against the wall.

Celene lowered herself into the tub, wincing just a bit at the heat. It was a good test. Subtle enough that nothing could come from it if Jenara failed. But she knew the elf was clever and saw her realize that Celene had taken a lover last night, and also realize that Celene was trusting her solely with this knowledge. The fact that she relaxed at the revelation caused Celene to chuckle at the thought of the elf thinking she was trying to seduce her instead. She thought of Adele and Briala and laughed again, dragging soap down her arm as Jenara’s ear twitched in her peripheral.  

“The dog needs a bath,” she commented as she rinsed herself. Jenara trembled almost imperceptibly from the corner and Celene allowed herself another light laugh. “I would not place such unwanted punishment on you, Jenara. Perhaps you could make inquiries to the stable hands, though.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

There was a hesitance in Jenara’s voice. Celene glanced over at her bowed head. Her arms were hidden behind her back but Celene could see them moving just a bit as if she was wringing her hands together. Something was bothering her. Similarly to how she had asked her about eating the night before. Progress, it seemed to Celene, that Jenara was unmasking herself enough for the Empress to make a decision on whether or not to acknowledge her opinion. This was what she wanted, after all. For someone to become her spymaster, Celene had to trust them implicitly, and they had to trust her. At least as far as Celene knew, she had done nothing to earn the distrust of the elf. She gazed upon her large ears, bicep twitching with every crack of the fire from the furnace. Another pot of water was boiling on top of it, and Jenara moved to remove it.

Celene watched her, noticing that Jenara was making every effort not to look her way. She wondered if it was out of courtesy or to better mask what she was thinking about. Jenara set the pot on the tile floor and placed another before moving back to her spot on the wall. Celene lifted her back from the tub wall and leaned forward, swimming to the opposite edge that was closer to Jenara. She crossed her arms over the top of the tub and rested her chin on top of them.

“Jenara?”

“Yes, your majesty?”

“Will you look at me?”

The elf swallowed and slowly raised her head. Celene waited until their eyes met before she smiled. She hoped she was coming across as inviting rather than predatory, and dimmed her smile just a bit at the thought.

“Something is on your mind,” she said quietly.

Jenara shook her head quickly and Celene noticed her biceps twitching as she clenched her fists behind her back. Celene took a deep breath and swirled her hips a bit to get the warm water to run over her back, which was chilling as it dried.

“It was kind of you to bring me dinner last night,” she tried.

“Her radiance needs to eat.”

Celene gave a short laugh. “Yes. But I did not instruct you to do so.”

Jenara dipped her head again, lowering it in a manner that made Celene grip the edges of the tub. It was a move that implied a beating was to follow. The Empress knew it well and she fought the urge to scratch the various small scars along her back and stomach as they burned beneath the water.

“You’re expecting punishment.”

“I disobeyed you, your majesty,” Jenara whimpered, dipping her head even lower.

Celene thought to counter that argument, but instead she sighed heavily and shook her head. “Very well.”

The Empress dipped her hand into the tub and flicked her fingers in Jenara’s direction. Water droplets sprayed against her forehead and cheek and Jenara winced before daring to look up at the Empress. Celene smiled and gave a gentle shrug.

“Lighten up, Jenara.”

Jenara let out a surprised laugh in spite of herself, her hands moving quickly to cover her mouth. Celene laughed with her and nodded at the elf’s widened eyes.

“These are terrible times,” she said, keeping a smile at the corner of her mouth in hopes of keeping Jenara at ease. “And there are terrible people in this world who do terrible things.”

“Majesty, you’re not—

“I am. It’s kind of you to say otherwise, but I am. I must be sometimes to do what is necessary. My terror comes in the form of war, assassinations, the burning of innocents who believe themselves to be doing the right thing.”

Jenara’s ear twitched and Celene swirled the water around her back again. It was going cold.

“But I will never punish you, Jenara, for doing what you think is right.”

Her ear twitched again, body trembling as she shook her head. Celene caught her eye and pointed to the steaming bucket next to the tub, allowing her eyebrows to raise as if she were asking rather than demanding as one in her position must. Jenara removed herself from the wall and picked up the bucket before moving to the end of the tub. She poured the water in slowly, keeping her head down, and Celene felt the warmth rush through her legs. She turned her head and watched Jenara and when the bucket was finally emptied, the elf finally spoke.

“You laughed this morning, your majesty,” she said as she placed the bucket on the floor and moved back to the wall. “You laughed a lot. It is…a most pleasing and rare sound.”

Celene felt a blush creep into her cheeks. “As is yours.”

Jenara blushed and fought the smile at the corner of her mouth. Taking a chance, Celene stood in the tub, the water rushing down her body. The elf looked up at the sudden movement, as the Empress knew she would, and Celene watched her take in the multitude of scars that lined her stomach and thighs. Some were from her adventures during the civil war and fighting the undead, some were from bard training, and some were from less appealing memories. A lot of them had healed smoothly under an expert’s stitch but there were a few that had not, and they bubbled up and darkened against her skin.

The elf watched for only a moment before looking away, fists clenching for reasons Celene didn’t want to guess. Jenara could make her own assumptions about them. All that mattered was that she knew they were there. She grabbed a large, fluffy towel and held it up to the Empress. Celene took it and wrapped it around herself, taking Jenara’s hand as she stepped down and out of the tub. The elf squeezed her hand before she released her and Celene kept her smile to herself as she dried off.

Jenara was still quiet and polite as she made the Empress up for the day, but there was a new calm between them now, a peace that lingered in Jenara’s relaxed shoulders and sure hands. Celene smiled at Jenara as she left and Jenara returned it just a bit before calling Prudence out with her. If dogs could smile, Jenara was certain that Prudence was smiling at her, but she could not return it as she bid the dog to follow her down the hall for her bath. 


	16. Chapter 16

The past few days had gone splendidly. Celene negotiated further with Anora and was impressed with how easily their conversation flowed. They were hardly what Celene would consider friends, but there was something else between them, a mutual respect perhaps, that seemed to put them both at ease. She had also spoken with Josephine Montilyet and received updates from the Inquisition. There was still more to be done, but the Inquisition was restoring peace in their own way and any relief upon her empire was a blessing.

She and Seryl had further discussed trade with Orzammar as well as an idea to send chevaliers to aid the dwarves at the border. If Orzammar accepted their support they would owe Orlais a great favor which would most certainly be beneficial in the long run. And most importantly, after long days filled with incessant talking and tight gowns, she would return to bed. Where, once again, her love was waiting for her. And words would fall by the wayside, as would gowns, and she could steal a few moments of peace to revel in the good that was being done.

Celene strode down the empty hall of the Orlesian wing alone, save for scurrying servants and a few wandering guards. Jenara would be waiting outside of her door to help her change appropriately for dinner and she idly wondered what gown she should wear. She wanted something that would show how pleased she was at this visit, but nothing so extravagant that Anora would see it as gloating. Her mind ran through the rest of the gowns she had available before she heard footsteps beside her. A hand traced quickly along her exposed back before Briala appeared by her side.

Celene took a deep breath, ignoring the goosebumps that rose along her neck at the touch. She turned to greet the Marquise, her eyes scanning the hall for anyone who could see. For the moment they seemed to be alone and for that Celene was grateful.

It was a game they used to play when they were still young lovers. Briala would tease and tempt the Empress in the most subtle of ways all throughout the day. Whether it was a lingering gaze, a ghostly touch, or an extra sway to her hips, it would render Celene insatiable as she struggled to keep appearances up. She would be distracted through the day, finding peace only in her bedchamber, where she would make Briala pay for the teasing all through the night, just as the elf wanted.

Briala had started on her task early this morning. Celene could see the elf watching her as she rose from the bed and made her way to the basin to wash her face. She felt Briala press against her back as she brought the water to her face, and straightened as freckled arms came around her. Briala’s eyes were dark and hungry in the mirror and Celene felt her lips on her shoulder as her hands caressed her stomach. They traveled downward, skimming over her hipbones and running over her thighs and Celene shivered as Briala smirked behind her. Water dripped from her chin and onto her chest, and Briala followed the drop down with her finger until it dried.

When she kissed her goodbye, Briala had surprised her by pushing her against the vanity. She encouraged Celene to sit back on it and kissed her deeply as the Empress’ legs wrapped around her. When Celene dared a soft moan into Briala’s mouth, Briala smiled and pulled away. She gave Celene a soft peck and backed away from her pawing hands, disappearing down the window and leaving the Empress flushed and frustrated.

When they passed each other in the estate today, Briala was quick to flash her a smile or a wink or some other surreptitious gesture, taunting her for the state she left the Empress in this morning. At lunch, when Briala had excused herself from the meal, she had dared to brush against the side of Celene’s arm as she passed. A simple lack of decorum to anyone else, but Celene knew the intent and had to fight to keep herself stoic as her peripheral watched Briala’s swaying hips out the door.

Celene felt her heart quickening at the memory as she smiled down at Briala. “Good evening, Marquise.”

“Your radiance.”

There was an arrogant upturn to Briala’s lips and Celene fought her desire to kiss it off. She knew what she was doing. She always did. And Celene hated to admit that she loved it. They slowed their walk before Briala moved to rest against a wall. Celene looked around again, surprised at Briala’s boldness, but stopped as well, keeping her posture straight.

“How fares the Empress this evening?” Briala asked with a soft exhale.

“I’m embarrassed to say that my appetite is somewhat ravenous.”

Briala ran a tongue along her lips, her eyebrows rising beneath her mask. She always looked beautiful to the Empress, but tonight she seemed to be glowing. Her mask was the same it had always been, but her hair wasn’t hidden by a hair cover. It was in a tight plait down the center of her scalp with curled strands accenting her cheeks. It shone soft and smooth against the light of the hall. Celene’s fingers itched to run through it but she forced them at her side.

“There’s nothing embarrassing about being hungry, your majesty. The body knows what it wants, after all.”

“More like what it needs.”

Celene ran her eyes up and down Briala’s body and took a deep breath. They may as well have been young lovers again, as many times as they had to start over. It shouldn’t have surprised Celene that she craved Briala so much. Even when they were at their happiest she could not get enough of her. Even when neither she nor Briala had bathed for days while traveling through the Eluvians, Celene still longed to hold her tightly. It was not so much the sex she desired, but the closeness. The feel of skin on skin and breaths intertwining, hearts beating against each other in unison. Being with Briala as much as possible, being consumed by her. That was what Celene craved, and her heart ached to be without it.

Briala gave a low hum, her eyes piercing as she gazed upon the Empress. “Well, perhaps I should let you go…eat then.”

Celene swallowed, eyes drifting down the hall where her bedchamber lay just past the corner. “Perhaps I should skip dinner altogether and retire to my chambers for the evening.”

Briala smiled. “As an ally to the Empress, and a servant of the Empire, I cannot allow you to go hungry.”

“No?”

Briala shook her head, her soft curls brushing against her cheek. She looked around the hallway for a moment before sliding just a few steps back, hand reaching for the door. It was the door to the study that Celene and Anora had their talks in, and Celene narrowed her eyes slightly as Briala pulled it open and slid inside. Looking around once more, the Empress followed. Briala pulled the door shut as soon as she stepped through, arm sliding around Celene’s waist. Celene tensed beneath her touch, hands pressing against the door to keep it closed. In her own palace where she knew every nook and cranny and sound, she would not have minded cavorting in an unoccupied room. But she did not know this place, and it sent her heart racing with fear and excitement.

“Bria,” she whispered between breaths, “we can’t. I—

“We can, Celene.”

Briala’s hands went to her face, and Celene’s mask slid free. She felt the cool air on her warm cheeks as Briala dropped the mask to the floor, her own following shortly after. Celene licked her lips nervously, eyes searching the small room for someone who wasn’t there. Briala took her hands and laced their fingers together. She gave them a reassuring squeeze before pulling the Empress off the wall and into her. Briala kissed her slowly, feeling Celene relax against her touch, and she pressed herself against the wall, bringing their hands over her head.

The Empress picked up on the hint and held Briala’s hands over her head, pressing her body against the elf as she deepened their kiss. Her body was on high alert, ear listening for every sound as her skin burned with need. Briala shivered beneath her and moaned into Celene’s mouth and despite her best efforts, the Empress’ thoughts began to cloud. Soon there was only Briala and her needs and Celene pulled her off the wall, leading her towards the small couch. Briala smiled and laid back on the couch, pulling the Empress on top of her. Celene kept one foot on the floor to steady herself, her other knee coming up to rest between Briala’s legs.

Briala’s hands went to her own braid and it was quickly undone, Celene’s fingers sliding through it and smoothing it out. When Celene’s hand went lower, Briala gave a groan of frustration and pulled at the collar of her dress. It ripped, exposing the tops of her breasts, and Celene pulled away, looking down at her curiously. Briala watched as Celene studied her ripped gown, fingers tracing over her newly exposed skin.

“Bria,” she chastised, “you shouldn’t have—

“Take me, Celene.”

Briala’s voice was low, raspy with need. Celene felt her chest heaving beneath her, felt the warmth of her skin, and kissed her again. Briala put her hands over her head again and Celene held them gently with one hand. The elf could break through easily if she wanted, but that wasn’t the point, and she loved the way Briala moaned beneath her.

Celene heard the door open.

There was nothing she could do. As she stilled on top of Briala, Briala instead squirmed, wrenching free from Celene’s grasp and sliding out from underneath her. The Empress nearly lost her balance at the action, placing her hand on the couch cushion to steady herself as Briala stood, panting. She looked up slowly, saw Briala’s wide and furious eyes, the rip in her dress, hair mussed, and understood.

_“I have to make us to where we cannot be ignored.”_

The words rang bitterly through Celene’s mind and she quickly fought down the knot forming in her throat. As elegantly as she could muster, she rose from the couch and stood tall, turning to face whoever had just walked in. Queen Anora stood at the door, Josephine Montilyet by her side. Lady Seryl’s page, Llowen, was clutching the door handle with a trembling hand, his face lowered as far as it would go. Anora looked infuriated, and Celene didn’t dare guess as to why. Josephine looked sympathetic, her eyes meeting Celene’s before they fell on the page’s, where she shook her head sadly.

Elves from Orlais heading to Denerim to study. Ferelden and Orlais standing against Tevinter. Her empire rising above the rest in culture and power and bringing the rest of Thedas with it. Peace. Briala by her side, forever. All of these images that had slowly been building up in her mind dwindled away in a moment. And she was alone again.

Briala self-consciously tugged at her dress and moved towards Anora, though the queen paid her no mind. Celene’s heart raced beneath her bosom, and she knew her face was flushed, lips swollen and glistening from her efforts. But an attempt to better her appearance would imply shame, and the Game forbid her from showing it.

She dipped her head politely to Anora, then to Josephine. They returned it stiffly. There was nothing to be said. Nothing that could be done now. She moved over to where Briala had dropped her mask and swooped down to pick it up but did not put it on. That would imply she was hiding something, and there was nothing to be hidden now.

“Your majesty, Lady Montilyet, if you will excuse me.” Her voice was level, head raised and face passive.

Anora and Josephine moved out of the way and the Empress passed them quickly, but not so quickly as to make them think she was running away. She kept herself up all the way down the hall, nodding at Jenara, who opened the door for her. She stepped inside and made it to the end of her bed when she heard the door close.

Then her legs gave out from underneath her. She fell to her knees, corset burning into her skin as she began to sob. Her breaths were ragged, ribs burning from the strain of the corset. She knew that Jenara was still in the room, having not been dismissed, but she could not speak. She couldn’t dare to turn her head and see another pair of elven eyes, sympathetic or otherwise. So she waved her hand hoping that she would get the hint and gripped the end of the bedframe as she continued to cry.

She felt hands on her back and jerked herself away, waving her hand again as she still could not speak. But the hands returned, and Celene felt the buttons of her gown being undone. Her corset loosened a moment later, and Celene took a deep breath, the burn in her ribs easing. But the relief only seemed to bring her more sadness and she sobbed again, wiping her eyes furiously with her hands before setting them on her lap. Celene saw red in her peripheral as Jenara crouched next to her. And a small, steady hand came into view and rested itself over top of hers.

When the Empress could cry no more Jenara fixed her hair and put her in a new dress. No words were spoken between them, no sound except for the pull of fabric or the residual sniffle. Celene was fashionably late for dinner and all smiles and poise. She chatted lightly with Lady Seryl and tried not to see the anger that surged beyond the woman’s eyes and hoped that her own sadness was not seeping through. She even engaged Anora, though their conversation was stilted. But to anyone who had not been in that room, everything seemed normal, and Celene wanted that to last for as long as she could. Even if that meant ignoring the Marquise’s empty chair all night.

 

* * *

 

Briala waited until nightfall before she began her climb to Celene’s bedroom. The Empress would not want to see her, of that she was certain. But she had to make her see. Just as she had to make Anora see. Her people couldn't stand by and wait any longer while the humans fought their petty little wars. She climbed the tree easily, having done it for the past few days, and made her way up the lattice. Candlelight shone through the drawn curtains and Briala took a deep breath as she pushed against the window.

It was locked. Briala sighed and tapped her finger against it. She heard the dog growling from inside the room and in a moment the curtain was pulled back. Briala looked up at Celene as she stood at the window. She looked like the Empress, face stoic as she gazed critically at the elf at her window. Briala tapped the window again and Celene paused, unlocking it quickly before turning around. She climbed through easily, closing it behind her and drawing the curtain once more. When she turned, the dog was standing between her and the Empress, who was at her desk, writing furiously.

Prudence wasn’t growling, but there was a low rumble in her chest that served as a warning to Briala. She nodded to the dog and watched its eyes narrow, not backing down from its spot. Deciding drop it she sighed and looked to the Empress.

“Celene.”

“What?” Her voice sounded like the snapping of a branch and Briala fought the shiver that ran down her spine.

“You must know why I did it.”

“You wanted to be noticed. And you used my love for you to get it.” Celene continued to write as she spoke.

“Who are you writing to?”

The question went unanswered and it was silent in the room save for the scratching of the quill and the rumble from the dog. Briala felt her cheeks flushing. Celene wasn’t supposed to make this about herself. Then again, Briala should not have been surprised that a human would make it all about themselves. Especially someone of Celene’s stature. She clenched her fists as she glared at the loose blonde braid in front of her.

“Be angry if you must. But it was the only way I—

Celene slammed her quill onto the desk with enough force to startle the dog. She turned and rose from the desk, making her way over to Briala. Her nightgown was loose and light and swam around her legs as she walked, making her seem like a spirit as she glided towards her.

“It was not the only way. It was the fastest way. Patience has never been your strong suit, Briala.”

Her words were quiet, but Briala could sense the anger that lingered beneath them. Celene was rarely one to be angry. Frustrated and annoyed, yes. But outright anger was rare because the Empress could do nothing with anger. Anger made her volatile, prone to screaming and fighting when she needed cunning and wit to survive.

“It is not impatience simply because we do not acquiesce to your whims. We’ve waited a few thousand years, you know. Then again, altruism has never been  _your_  strong suit.”

Celene chuckled darkly, her head shaking. “You would call me selfish. Perhaps I am. Who knows where I end and the Empire begins, after all.”

“Don’t bring that into this,” Briala spat. “You know damn well it has nothing to do with—

“It has everything to do with  _me_ ,” Celene interrupted, refusing to let Briala gain the upper hand. “But the Empire doesn’t matter to you. That part of me, of who I am, doesn’t matter to you.”

“Maker, this isn’t about you, Celene.”

“Oh, but it is. You see, I’m not angry that you exposed me to Anora.”

Celene’s voice cracked on the last word and Briala lifted her head. The anger had dissipated from Celene’s eyes, and tears had replaced them. She clenched her jaw to keep them at back but they still twinkled in the dim light.

“I’m angry because you made me out to be a monster.” Celene sniffled, the tendons in her throat tightening as she tried to keep calm. “I’ve done many horrible things. But I have  _never_  forced myself upon you. I would never do that. And y-you…” she paused to collect herself, taking shallow breaths.

Briala felt guilt sitting low and burning in her gut. It was true. Celene had never forced herself upon her. Had never slapped her in the heat of an argument or kissed her to silence her. She had aimed a knife at her back in the Eluvians. Briala had seen it in the reflection of the glass before Celene’s hand was frozen by magic. To this day, she didn’t know if Celene would have thrown it if given the chance.

“If there was anything in this world that I held as true, as pure, it was my love for you,” Celene began again. “Think what you must about that but it is  _my_  truth. I would be celibate for the rest of my life if I could still bring pleasure to you. Still warm you with my touch and ease you with my lips. It was all for you. We both know that words mean nothing and everything. They cannot be trusted. But my hands cannot lie, and I always thought you understood that, or could at least feel it in my touch. That everything I do is for you.”

She sighed, bringing her shaking hands together to wring them out. “This is the second time you’ve used me to get what you want, used my love for you. I have come to terms with you stealing the ruby. Perhaps you’re right and it was never really mine to begin with. But tonight…tonight you tainted my love for you. I fear I will never be able to look at you again without seeing that fear in your eyes, your disgust at my touch.”

Briala shook her head softly. She tried to take a step towards the Empress, but the dog growled again, stilling her feet. “Celene, it’s as you’ve always said: I can’t put you before the needs of my people. You needed a reminder of the power we can hold. You’ve gotten complacent with the timeline in your head, and that is not the way of things.”

The Empress gave a soft smile. “Don’t try to explain yourself to me, Marquise. It matters not. Your perception is your reality and no one in Orlais will pat you on the back for your good deeds. The best we can do is try to be satisfied for ourselves and hope for the best. The elves will not suffer for this, as I have always promised. But I can no longer bear to look at you, lest I see the monster in myself that you’ve created.”

She gave a bitter laugh, shoulders falling. “You always thought me naïve for my views on our love. And perhaps I am. I should have suspected something when you teased me this morning, when you ripped your gown. But none of us are above doing what we must to get things done. Even you. I see that now. I said that I could never let you go again, but now it seems all too easy. Go, Marquise, and always do what you must. We are done here.”

Celene turned and made her way back to her desk, where she sat down and began to write again. Her movements were softer now, more resigned.

“Celene, I—

Briala took another step forward and Prudence growled. Her teeth bared and she began to step slowly towards her. Briala had not brought a weapon with her and she began to back up towards the window. She looked to Celene who most certainly heard what was going on, but the Empress kept her head low and back straight. Prudence backed Briala up against the wall and the elf had no choice but to climb back out the window.

Once she was gone, the growling stopped and Prudence made her way over to Celene, sitting by her side. When her tears started to fall and stain her parchment, the Empress sighed, and placed her hand on the dog’s head. Prudence leaned against Celene’s side and for once, she was not pushed away.


	17. Chapter 17

“You’re quieter than usual, which is saying something,” Adele remarked as she moved to sit by Jenara.

The elf had come to watch her practice her swordsmanship, a trend that seemed to be recurring every night. Not that the chevalier minded. Jenara had changed out of her gown and slightly resembled Adele in fashion. A loose, white tunic that looked far too big for her sat just on the edges of her shoulders, threatening with every breath to fall and brown breeches covered her legs. On her feet were what Adele supposed were boots, but the leather was so worn she may as well have been barefoot.

Adele reached out and grasped the cotton of Jenara’s shirt, lifting it up and onto her shoulder. That caused it to fall on the opposite side, but that side was out of her reach and mostly out of her sight. It was safer, the chevalier thought, than risking the shirt to fall off her shoulders entirely.

“Is this your father’s shirt?”

Jenara gave a brief, proud smile and nodded, dipping her head to play with the laces of the tunic. “I stole it before I moved into the Imperial Palace. It used to smell of him, and it helped me sleep those first few nights.” She turned her head and placed her nose to her shoulder, inhaling.

Adele followed suit, pressing her nose to the cotton. It only smelled like Jenara to her, and she smiled as she pulled away. The look in the elf’s eyes told her that she knew the same.

“What did it used to smell like?”

“Elfroot and dirt. Garlic from the stew boiling in the corner,” Jenara laughed, eyes growing distant with a memory. “I’m surprised I was able to find one that wasn’t stained. He was so clumsy when he made his potions.”

“He made potions?”

“He was a healer. One of many in the alienage.”

Adele smiled and reached for Jenara’s hand. “I suppose that’s where your kind heart comes from.”

Jenara turned Adele’s hand and began to trace the lines in her palm. Her fingertips moved up Adele’s wrist and past her forearm before they rested on her bicep. She frowned curiously and squeezed the muscle. Adele flexed it for her, watching Jenara’s pleased grin as she pressed against the muscle with her fingertips.

“It’s funny that you say that. He always used to say that everyone is born with a good heart. And it never truly leaves even the worst of individuals. My father said a lot of things, actually"

"Such as?"

Jenara gave a wistful sigh, eyes turning to the ceiling. "Everyone's a little queer but me and thee...and sometimes I worry about thee. And," she paused, frowning, "I could never say this one right. There's enough bad nn the best of us and enough good in the worst of us that it behooves none of us to talk about the rest of us."

Adele chuckled beside her. "That is a mouthful. But wise words, nonetheless."

Jenara nodded, smiling at Adele as she began to undo the braid in her hair. Adele thought to her own father and the memories she had of him. He used to read her before bed stories of Ser Aveline. Adele's eyes would widen as he read with one hand, the other hand moving as if it possessed a sword, reenacting the battle for his daughter. When she told him she wished to be a chevalier a few years later, he saddened only for a moment before he said Ser Aveline's name. Aveline may have been the first, he said as kissed her cheek, but you will be the best.

That had not come true, as it was. Adele knew that she was not the first candidate when it came to Celene's Champion. Anger trembled in her breast at the thought, and her mind swam with the memories of that night at the theater, the cut in Celene's gown and the blood on her face. Her anger was controlled now, but it had never ceased. She had to be better for Celene, for herself. And, despite any orders her Empress may make, Adele knew she would not hesitate to strike should another attempt come around.

Adele pressed a kiss to Jenara's temple, bringing her arm around her. Fingers skimmed her exposed shoulder for just a moment before she caught herself, pulling her hand away and lowering it until it rested against the crooked tunic. Jenara scooted closer and leaned against Adele's side, her arm moving around the chevalier's waist as she placed her head against her shoulder.

They were silent for a few minutes, hands idly comforting each other as horses nickered around the barn and shuffled hay. A gentle breeze blew against the barn and the trees shook around them. Adele recounted the quotes Jenara had given of her father and tried to commit them to memory. She had not missed the swell of pride that became the elf when she spoke of him, and thought it best not to ask why she referred to him in past tense. She also thought it best not to ponder on who, if not her father, made Jenara expectant of blows. It was so rare to see her truly happy, at peace. As quiet and timid as she was, there was always something behind those eyes, calculating. Adele figured it was due to her fear, which constantly kept her on edge, and she squeezed her tightly for a moment, eyes falling to her worn out boots.

"I'm certain the Empress would not be pleased to know her favorite handmaiden did not have proper footwear. I know she would get you a new pair."

Jenara's hand tightened around her waist and she nestled her head further against Adele's shoulder. "The Empress has too much on her mind right now."

Adele sat up, Jenara lifting her head at the motion. She met the chevalier's eyes, dark in the dim light but still shimmering. The question burned in her eyes and Jenara leaned up to give her a quick kiss before answering.

"The Marquise has hurt her."

"How?"

There was a fierceness to Adele's tone that made Jenara's heart race. Protective of her empress, as was her job, but it still comforted her to know that she was not the only one on Celene's side.

"I don't know how. All I know is that tonight I had to loosen her majesty's corset before she fainted from her sobs."

Adele's jaw tightened, sympathy filling her eyes as she cupped Jenara's cheek. Jenara didn't know who the sympathy was for, but she placed her hand over Adele's all the same.

"I haven't heard anything on the matter," Adele said finally. Though people were cautious with their words around Celene's champion, Adele could still pick up on certain tones or movements that implied discretion, and she did not recall sensing any of that throughout the day.

"Neither have I."

"Then how do you know it was the Marquise?"

Jenara's eyes hardened as they returned to a memory and she pressed tighter to Adele's hand. "The Marquise is the only one who can invoke such emotion from the Empress."

Adele thought back to the night of the gala when she had patrolled the garden while Celene and Briala chatted. It was her job to watch the Empress, and she did not miss the closeness at which they sat, the way Celene seemed to be on guard. She had looked away as the Marquise touched the Empress' face with a gentility Adele did not truly understand until she first reached out to Jenara. She remembered when Briala had barged in on the Empress with her suspicions of the theater, and how she had called Celene by her name, unashamed, and was not punished for it. She remembered the way Jenara had been so furious at the mentioning of the Marquise previously, calling her unworthy of her title. It seemed she was the last to truly know of the Empress' private affairs and she tried to suppress her anger as she cradled Jenara again.

"The Marquise has been a pain ever since she arrived," she said finally. "The Empress works better without her influence."

Jenara nodded against her arm. "I don't understand why she keeps her around."

"Well, she does represent the elv—

"She does not represent me," Jenara snapped. "I do not want someone who...who uses their love to...t-to...."

Adele felt Jenara's arms tighten fiercely around her. Her small body shook as she tried to suppress her tears, ear twitching just beneath Adele's chin. Though surprised, the chevalier held her tightly, rocked them both just a bit as she tried to console her.

"Love is a strange thing," she whispered as Jenara began to calm. "You read stories and hear tales of the things love can bear and burn and you think it must be just that: tales."

She tilted Jenara's head back and smiled as she looked upon her reddened face, blue eyes somehow brighter than before. She wiped the tears from Jenara's cheeks and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"But then you see someone, hear their voice, feel their touch, listen to their thoughts, and you realize that your entire life has been incomplete until this moment. And it's...it's really scary to feel this strongly about someone. Especially in a world that would try to deny someone their heart based on something as trivial as..." She drifted, lifting a hand to trace Jenara's ear before reconsidering.

"To be so set in your ways and beliefs and the rules of life. And then this exception walks in. Breaks all the rules and changes all the plans and could ruin everything you've worked so hard for. But she's worth it. And she'll be worth it every time."

Adele's hand ran itself up and down Jenara's back, mindful of her exposed skin. She felt the elf tremble beneath her touch and blushed as Jenara took in her words. Tears began to line those dark blue eyes again, but they did not fall. Instead Jenara rose up and kissed her deeply, grabbing Adele's hand and placing it on her bare shoulder. The chevalier's touch was considerate and warm and made goosebumps rise along her skin.

"In some cases," Jenara said between kisses, lips brushing against Adele's as she spoke, "she's not worth it. Remember that, Champion."

"You really detest the Marquise, don't—

Jenara cut her off with her tongue, Adele's gentle grasp tightening against her skin.

 

* * *

 

Celene sat by the fountain in the garden. It was the only place in the estate where she truly felt at peace, alone, and even then she relied on the sounds of the bubbling water to keep her safe. She couldn’t be sure if it was her imagination running rampant, but eyes seemed to linger on her as she passed. All whispers seemed to hold her name and every laugh, no matter how far away, was at her expense. Resisting the urge to rub at her tired eyes, Celene instead lifted her mask from her face, exposing it to the cool fall chill.

She didn’t care who saw her mask-less this morning. For she knew that her face was impervious. Because she was too tired to show any expression. The ramifications of yesterday sat with her all through the night and she never even climbed into bed, reading reports from Val Royeaux and writing responses until dawn. It took three cups of tea before she willed herself to call Jenara, who then brewed her fourth and even still pain clawed at the sides of her head. Thankfully, the sky was perpetually gray, and it dulled the colors of the garden, easing the strain on her eyes.

Allowing herself to sigh, Celene heard Prudence’s head lift next to the bench. The dog had not left her side since chasing Briala off, and yet she maintained a respectful distance. She reminded the Empress somewhat of her champion, who was against the wall in her peripheral. Always watching, there but not, seen and unseen. Adele had been perfectly cordial to her this morning as she always was. But there was a lingering presence about her and her smile came much too easily. Sympathy or pity most like. She was not surprised that the chevalier knew. It was likely that everyone knew by now, or would soon enough.

She shuddered despite the shawl around her shoulders and felt an emptiness creep into her gut. The same strange emptiness that had filled her when she found Briala behind the curtain in the reading room. It was a realization of what she had done, and what was to come. An acceptance of her fate no matter which way it fell. Like with her lover, she would leave the door open and accept the consequences.

Out of the corner of her eye, Celene saw Adele recognize someone. The chevalier lifted her head, then bowed deeply as footsteps neared. Adele only had to bow to one other person in this estate, and Celene made to stand to properly address the queen.

“Don’t stand on my account,” Anora said as she rounded the corner, catching Celene mid-rise.

Anora’s voice was brusque as usual, and her face betrayed nothing behind her mask. She looked angry, yes, but Celene had come to learn that the queen always looked angry. Pushing the memory of Anora’s furious gaze to the back of her mind, Celene merely nodded and sat back down. Anora sat next to her, lifting her own mask from her face and setting it to the side. Prudence peered out from beside the Empress, mouth opening to pant happily as she greeted the queen.

Anora nodded to Prudence before she lifted her head to the sky and examined the breach. It was terrifyingly close here, not like the small green speck that she could ignore from her castle in Denerim. Selfishly, before arriving here she thought herself to be the wounded party. Celene had tried to dethrone her long ago, her father had to die before she resumed the throne, she had a blight to quell and a country to rebuild, and now this blasted hole in the sky. But as she sat behind her mask and watched the Orlesians at play, she had a change of heart.

She had been trained in the Game, warned by Teagan of what to expect, and yet it still had not prepared her. At first she thought herself to be at a grand show. Bright colors of dizzying designs, perfumes mixing with salted meats, white faces with painted smiles. But even the layers and layers of makeup could not disguise the charlatans beneath. They seemed like animals to Anora, clawing at whoever would listen and spouting lies and truths and euphemisms and metaphors all to guarantee that they would wake up in the morning. Realistically she knew she had nothing to fear from these people, but that did not aid in her paranoia, which repeatedly screamed at her to keep her face calm, to not show weakness. After being here for only a few hours, she had already succumbed to the Game, nodding politely at whoever was speaking to her simply so she did not give anything away.

But then Celene had entered, and the animals pounced. Etiquette was everything and they kept their distance and decorum, but Anora could not help but be reminded of the sight of a mabari catching its prey. Voices grew louder to catch her attention and certain phrases were thrown about as if to get a rise from the Empress. Women cackled to catch her eye and men exuded their chests to impress her. These people who fawned over their Empress had sworn her dead only months ago. And should Celene take one wrong step, they would surely turn again.

Anora had marveled at the Empress that night before dinner and dancing. Celene seemed perfectly at ease, smiling through light threats and inquiries as if she did this sort of thing all the time. That was when it occurred to Anora that she did. Her entire life spent behind a mask, death pressing behind every noble’s smile, where quick wit and cunning was the only thing that kept her on the throne. They didn’t care that she had brokered peace between their nations, didn’t care that she had improved their economy and culture and for once made them worthy of the arrogance they held for Orlais. They only cared about the next move, the next word.

The queen was certain that Celene would treat her in the same way. She allowed this certainty to rile her up when they first began their talks. But Celene had been patient, had even accepted a few of the barbs Anora had thrown at her. She had removed her mask for the queen, revealed a damning secret to solidify her intentions. Despite the world of lies in which she lived, Celene was still a person. A good one, at that. Perhaps the only good person Orlais had left as far as Anora was concerned.

The queen sighed as she lowered her head with closed eyes. There was a rustling of fabric to her left to indicate Celene had turned to face her. Waiting. Patient.

“You have been remarkably forthright with me during this visit, Celene,” she began finally, opening her eyes to face the Empress. She looked tired and wan and Anora could not blame her. “It surprised me, to say the least. I did not think there was one good thing that came from Orlais, but you have proven me wrong.”

Celene’s face remained calm. She blinked once, still listening.

“Which is why I hope you will continue to prove me wrong by telling me that what I saw yesterday was not, in fact, what it was.”

Celene licked her lips and dipped her head. There was a moment’s pause before she spoke, her voice stressed from use.

“I suppose that depends on what you saw.”

Anora sighed. Celene was not playing the Game, but her answer implied that there was some truth to the scene she had walked in on with Josephine. The wind picked up just a bit and she watched somewhat enviously as Celene tightened her shawl around her. Her jacket covered her shoulders and arms, but the material was not meant for the cold.

“If we’re in the business of admitting things for trust,” she began, “then I suppose you might as well know I’m somewhat of a romantic.”

Celene lifted her eyes, the only indication of surprise, and Anora nodded.

“I love the stories. Tethras’  _Swords and Shields_  is somewhat of a guilty pleasure, and even in the midst of this war I still wonder if the Hero of Ferelden will ever return to her beloved bard. Leliana has changed so much since that doe-eyed archer of ten years ago. She’s so serious and dark. I wonder sometimes if the Hero would bring a smile back to her face, or a song back to her lips. I wonder about these things because it is all I can do. Women of our position have little time in the ways of hobbies, so we must turn our imagination from time to time, mustn’t we?”

Anora felt her cheeks blushing at her admission but Celene nodded. There was no judgment in her eyes. But there was a bit of intrigue, curious as to where the queen was heading.

“When I saw you watching the Marquise dance that first night, there was little left to the imagination. I don’t think anyone else in your court is as much of a…sentimentalist as I am, so they likely did not see. But there was a longing in your eyes. Not lust, but something stronger. You did not want to possess the Marquise, you simply wanted to dance with her. At least, that’s what I imagined.”

Celene’s neck tensed as she clenched her jaw. Then she closed her eyes and gave a hint of a nod.

“She is your lover.”

“Was.”

Anora nodded, shivering as another bout of cold coursed through her. Celene made to remove her shawl but the queen shook her head, noting the Empress’ exposed shoulders.

“When I first saw you both and the look on the Marquise’s face…I was furious. I thought you had ruined everything we had worked so hard for these past few days. I thought I was wrong for believing in you. But it just…doesn’t fit with who you are, Celene.” She looked to the Empress, who seemed surprised, and shrugged. “In Orlais nothing is as it seems. So if it seems that the Marquise was taken advantage of… that cannot be the case.”

Her eyes hardened for a moment and she flashed Celene a warning glare. “However, if it  _was_  the case, you understand that such behavior is unacceptable, Empress or no. To force yourself—

“Please,” Celene choked, shaking her head vigorously. “Please, say no more. I cannot bear the thought.”

She was trembling, but not from the cold. Celene knew the truth but she could not stop herself from thinking terrible thoughts of the Marquise in a position beyond her control. It sickened her, churned in her gut, and she felt excess saliva pooling in her mouth.

Anora’s hand covered her own, breaking the Empress from her thoughts. When she looked up, the queen appeared sympathetic, smiling as she retracted her hand.

“I’m glad my instincts were right. It does not sit well with me to not take the side of the victim. But it seems to me that the Marquise can handle herself quite well. Especially against a woman in a corset and gown.”

Celene could only give an impartial nod. She herself loathed violence, especially violence of lust and had worked with the city guard and the chevaliers on lowering the incidences in her city. The situation did not sit well with her either. She didn’t know why Briala would portray her in such a way. But Briala’s intent did not matter in the end.

“Lady Seryl has been informed,” Anora said finally. “Because her page also saw what occurred yesterday. She seems sympathetic to your cause, but it is best you know in case she must be dealt with. She also said she would set the record straight from the Marquise before acting. I trust you understand the repercussions should I find that you’ve lied to me about this matter.”

Celene nodded, shoulders falling. “Seryl has always known, it seems.”

“Yes, quite the character, that one.”

Anora thought back to her chat with Lady Seryl, where she told her of what she saw, and of the page. Seryl looked saddened for a moment, then resolute, vowing that she would handle the matter. Then she had reached out and touched Anora’s arm and asked if the sight of Celene impassioned spurred any sort of response from her. When Anora had asked her to clarify, Seryl had simply laughed and walked away, muttering under her breath about Meghren and Florian and the unification of lands.

“Apart from Seryl, no one else need know about this, I don’t think,” Anora finished, straightening. “And I will most certainly not be meeting with the Marquise.”

Celene gave her a sympathetic smile. “You are most kind, Anora. But don’t punish the elves for the Marquise’s behavior.”

“The Marquise wanted to be noticed by me and she made a poor showing of going about it. I will not give her what she wants by gracing her with an audience at this time. When the war is over I will make good on my promise to you and meet with her. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s far too cold to stay out here any longer.”

Celene stood with Anora and they both bowed politely to each other. Anora watched as Prudence rose and took her place by Celene’s side.

“I understand you’ve traveled a great distance for these talks,” Anora said as she eyed the dog. “If you’re unable to take the mabari at this time, I will take her back to Ferelden.”

Celene smiled but shook her head, lowering her hand to pet the top of Prudence’s head. “Such a generous gift cannot be returned, your majesty.”

Anora returned the smile and turned to leave before she felt Celene’s hand upon hers. She turned back around and met Celene’s eyes, fierce for the first time today, as if she’d regained a part of herself. The Empress squeezed her hand gratefully.

“Thank you, Anora.”

“My pleasure, Celene.”


	18. Chapter 18

Briala didn’t dare venture out of her chambers this morning. She was certain that Celene would be up early and possibly roaming around the halls, as she was wont to do when she was troubled. She had not slept well either, and her eyes were tired as she gazed upon herself in the vanity. There were several things she needed to attend to today. Variel and Sammet, her agents to Jader, needed to bring her updates as well as armor for the elves. She had a stack of letters from the Dales that required response, and yet the Empress still dominated her thoughts.

Briala grit her teeth. Celene had cast her aside, truly this time. She need not dwell on her any longer. She had set out to send a message to the chummy monarchs. A message that she would not be ignored like the rest of her people. And if left unchecked, she could prove disastrous for the both of them. Celene had taken the fall for her point to be made, but it was about time the score was settled. Even still, it did not bring her peace. Celene’s reputation with Anora was most certainly ruined. Maybe even with the Inquisition as well. Hopefully, Anora would understand and maybe even respect her position. She seemed the type to appreciate those who got right to the point.

Heading to her bureau, Briala retrieved her dress from yesterday and examined the collar. She pushed the image of Celene’s broken face from her mind as she contemplated repairing it. If the stitches were overt enough, it could garner her extra sympathy. Then again, if they were too overt the lesser nobles would see them and ask questions. They didn’t need to know about her and Celene just yet. She had to keep the upper hand with Anora.

There was a sharp, single knock on her door. Briala felt her heart rate increase as she stuffed her dress back into the bureau and applied her mask. She ran a hand along her back and found comfort in the dagger that was hidden there before she opened the door. A part of her expected it to be Celene, or perhaps Jenara on Celene’s behalf and she hated the way her heart fell when that turned out untrue.

Lady Seryl stood on the other side of the door. Briala caught no lingering scent of tobacco or alcohol and stepped aside to allow her through. Lady Seryl’s back was tall, her mouth set in a hard line and she passed into the room quickly, turning only when Briala closed the door behind her.

“I heard of your unfortunate incident last night, Marquise,” she said before Briala could get a greeting out. “I trust you are unharmed.”

Briala felt her face flush beneath her mask and she managed a nod. “I am fine.”

“Given the circumstances with which we spoke the other day regarding ears, I am somewhat curious as to what changed between you two. What made Celene snap?”

Seryl was challenging her. Briala, like everyone, knew that Seryl was unshakably loyal to Celene. Even if Briala tried to continue with the belief that Celene had forced herself upon her, Seryl would still side with the Empress. And it wasn’t as if Seryl knowing the truth mattered. It would be her secondhand opinion against Queen Anora’s own eyes and they both knew that Anora would believe as she wished.

“I guess she touched them too roughly,” Briala said finally, bringing a hand to her ear for emphasis.

Seryl snorted, though her face remained unamused. “The Game be damned, then. Did Celene force herself upon you?”

Briala blinked once. “No.”

“You’re certain? My loyalty to the Empress is deep, Marquise, but acts of violence are unbecoming no matter who entertains them.”

“You’d take her side even if she did.”

“I would continue to support her rule, yes. But I would not hold you in contempt or see you punished further for her depravity.”

Briala flinched at the word and knew that Seryl had seen it. She sighed and gave as nonchalant a shrug as she could manage. “She did not force herself upon me.”

Seryl nodded. “I asked you to throw Celene on a table in front of Anora, not underneath a carriage.”

“I didn’t do it for you. But perhaps you should take care what you wish for.”

Seryl shook her head. Her fingers steepled in front of her chest as she regarded the Marquise. There was no humor in her tone and was the first time Briala had seen her in such a fashion. She recalled the small village that Celene and Michel had entered during the civil war. Seryl had ordered their crops burned, their fisherman slain all for aiding Gaspard’s soldiers. Her own people suffered for Celene even though the Empress had no say in the matter. And Briala had consciously hurt Celene in Seryl’s home. The dagger against her back began to press painfully against her skin and she kept the door in her peripheral. She didn’t know if Seryl had any weapons training but she wouldn’t put it past her. Though she hoped her younger age would prove advantageous should it come to blows.

“What could you have possibly hoped to gain from this, Marquise?”

“The elves are tired of being cast aside, subject to the whims of humans. I had to make myself, my people, tangible.”

“You needn’t have tortured your love to do it.”

“You know nothing of us, Seryl,” Briala cautioned with a raised hand. “But I had to ensure that they also saw me as a threat. Someone who can and will do what is necessary for her people. I will not cower behind a bowed head any longer.”

The older woman paused for a moment as she took in Briala’s words. Her mask was old. The gold was losing its luster despite the relatively new feathers around the eyes. But it did nothing dull her presence and Briala resisted the urge to get complacent.

“You sought to expose Celene as an elven abuser? When she has worked so hard for your people?”

“Not hard enough.”

“And dethroning her? Risking her death? What does…Maker, Marquise, I never took you for a bullheaded fool but I can see no logic in this. You let your feelings for the Empress get in the way and made an incredibly stupid move. The Game would see you dead.”

Briala clenched her fists and Seryl nodded, speaking over her when she saw Briala open her mouth.

“If word were to spread of Celene being a lover of elves, she would be removed from power somehow. And all the work that you and the Inquisition went through at the ball in Halamshiral would be worthless. Orlais would be leaderless, powerless against this blighted sky hole and Tevinter magister. Did you think of that? Or did you just want to see the hurt in Celene’s eyes? To make her feel as terrible about herself as you did for her?”

“You know nothing—

“ _I know enough_.”

Seryl’s words were soft but sharp. Briala hated the tall way she stood, the way she tried to seem superior when she was nothing but a crude drunk, better suited to a tavern alley than this lavish estate. She had no right to comment on her relationship with Celene. The Empress could do no wrong in her eyes, in the Inquisition’s eyes.

“She killed my parents,” Briala hissed finally.

Though Seryl’s face remained neutral, her fingers tensed just enough to indicate surprise. It was all Briala needed and she felt a rush of relief despite her current anger.

“When?” Seryl asked.

“Shortly before becoming Empress.”

Seryl’s mask shifted as she furrowed her brow. “Twenty years?”

“Is time supposed to lessen the crime?”

“No, I’m just wondering why you’re still here if it bothers you so much.” At Briala’s pause Seryl continued. “You wanted Celene to feel just as horrible as she made you feel. I can understand that. Respect it, on some level. I’d want revenge for my parents’ murderer. Well, I would if my mother wasn’t such a tart and my father wasn’t such a bronto’s ass. But I’m sorry to say that your plan hasn’t worked in your favor.

“Anora came to me shortly after the incident. She was quite ready to behead Celene herself. I managed to talk her down. Smart woman, Anora, but she doesn’t understand the nuances of the Game, and she’s quite easy to sway if one is patient enough. Perhaps Celene will learn that in time. But I convinced Anora that things in Orlais were never as they seem and she has calmed down significantly. I do believe she’s already made peace with Celene, as a matter of fact. And Josephine, well…Josephine saw through you right from the beginning. I still can’t believe she’s Antivan with that Orlesian mind of hers.”

Seryl gave a sad smile, hands twitching just a bit as she lowered them to her side. “It’s rather ironic, actually. The only one who will suffer for this act of yours, are the very people you’re trying to protect.”

Briala frowned. Then she remembered Llowen, her page who had opened the door. She had met his eyes for the briefest of moments while under Celene before he looked away. But he still saw. Briala’s throat went dry, her voice cracking as she spoke.

“You didn’t.”

“I had to, I’m afraid. He went peacefully, if it helps. A draught that put him in a sleep so deep he need not breathe.  _Mon petit homme_.”

Seryl’s voice was shaking too and Briala tried to ignore the unmistakable quiver of her chin. Tried to ignore the last time she saw his face, frightened and resigned.

“You can’t just…there will be uprising over his death.”

“He has no family. As far as anyone else is concerned he died strangely in his sleep.”

“I will see you—

“What, Marquise? You will see me what? My potion killed him, yes, but it was your hand that forced the bottle.” Seryl chuckled. “You can no longer hide behind your precious Empress. These are the consequences for the actions we make. Start an uprising if you wish. I will deal with it. I always have.”

Briala’s heart was hammering in her chest. If Seryl was speaking the truth, she had utterly failed. She felt the ruby in her pocket and her lack of concern with her spies. She saw the stack of letters on the table and the winning gleam in Seryl’s eyes. She had tried so hard to get back at Celene, to make her suffer, to uplift the elves. Her anger had gotten the better of her. And she had no one to blame but herself.

“And now it has come to me to deal with you,” Seryl continued, her eyes roaming lazily around Briala’s room. “Celene is my Empress. You have attempted treason against her and are no longer welcome at my estate. I would see you dead, if Celene didn’t fancy you so and if the elves weren’t so up your ass. But, as such is the case, you will extricate yourself from the property today. Make whatever excuse you like to please the gossiping fools here. I’ll send someone for your things shortly.”

Seryl made towards the door and left, ignoring Briala’s seething form as she passed. The elf’s shoulders sank as the door clicked shut and tears fell from her eyes. She wiped them away quickly and went to her desk. Her hand reached for the stack of letters that still needed replies but stopped in midair. She couldn’t focus enough right now to formulate worthy responses. Packing seemed like a waste of time. She had brought precious little with her. Briala felt at an impasse. She no longer desired to be in this horrible estate either, but neither could she face the shame of leaving, excuse or no. She wished she was back in the Dales where she had confidants and—

Briala’s eyes widened and she pulled open a drawer in her desk, pulling out Felassan’s latest letter. Her heart eased as she read over the words and she allowed herself to smile. He would not be pleased at her situation, and there were several jokes to be made at her expense. But he would listen to her, and give advice just like he always had. Seryl could burn her belongings for all she cared. She would take what she could and travel with Felassan back to the Dales through the Eluvians.

Briala packed what she could into a knapsack, including her letters from the Dales and her spy reports. To keep suspicion at bay, Briala wrote a simple letter about her presence being required in the Dales and left it on the bed for whomever to find. Likely Seryl would find it and take care of it as necessary. She slung the knapsack over her shoulder and peered out the door to her chambers. When the hallway was empty, she quickly headed out, keeping her head ducked and blending back into her role of servant. No one but fellow servants paid her any mind as she passed and for that she was grateful. She exited the estate and began the trek to the Eluvian.

Though she left early in the morning, it was nearing dark by the time she had arrived. She had stopped along the city’s outer walls and picked up her weapons and armor. The armor felt familiar to her but the weight of the pack, bow, and arrows on her aching back was growing tiresome. She had not eaten all day, nor stopped to drink and she hoped that Felassan would have a stew bubbling when she arrived.

She watched her steps as she crept through the forest, making little more sound than the wind through the trees. It was eerily quiet as she neared the cave that held the Eluvian, and she wondered if it was the magic that kept the wildlife at bay. It was still quiet when she reached the tunnel of trees that led into the cave. She peered inside and squinted. The mirror shimmered in her eyes despite there being no light at the end of the tunnel. The ruby in her pocket burned, urging her forward and Briala obeyed.

The campsite was still there as she entered, a small fire burning. Briala did not see any signs of food and she sighed in disappointment as she dropped her belongings on Felassan’s bedroll. A flicker of light along the ground caught her eye and Briala crouched down. There was something dried along the stone floor and it caught in the fire. Briala tried to examine it in the dim light and rubbed at it with her finger. She brought her finger to her nose and inhaled. Blood. A muffled shout came from behind her.

“It’s good to see you,  _da’len_ ,” a voice called from the shadows. 


	19. Chapter 19

Seryl found Celene that afternoon in one of the many studies designated for visitors. The Empress sat tall and straight, a large tome in her hands, and paid no mind as the other woman entered. Seryl curtsied before Celene and studied the title as she sat next to her.

“Didn’t think you’d be one to need to study up on elven biology,” she commented, her smile falling as Celene frowned and turned the page.

The Empress set her finger on a line and placed the book in her lap, leaning over to the table in front of her. Parchment was scattered about with various notes and scribblings Seryl could not decipher from her distance and she watched as Celene copied her line of interest, then made a series of several notes underneath.

“This  _‘scholar’_  claims that elven ears should be likened to rabbits. They are beasts of prey and should not be trusted. Cavorting with them is akin to laying with a beast.”

Lady Seryl snarled and waved the words away with her hand. “Bloody fools. Ignore them, Celene.”

“This came from  _my_  University,” Celene answered as she penned another note. “I will not tolerate such benighted abuse of pedagogy.”

“’Benighted abuse of pedagogy?’” Seryl asked with a raised brow. She gave a chuckle and picked up one of Celene’s pages, squinting as she brought it to her nose. Celene’s notes were unedited, of course, written in tirade and all over the place. But they were still eloquent and informed and confident. Seryl knew Celene was smart. She had to be in order to run the Empire as well as she did. But this level of scholarly intellect surprised her. Especially since it held no real place in court.

“Well,” she said as she lowered the page back to the table. “Certainly hung him out to dry, didn’t you?”

Celene made no response. Seryl watched the stiffness of her back and the way she flexed her hand when she put down the quill. Her face betrayed nothing, but her body was in pain. As was her mind.

“You know you cannot send this, Celene,” she said quietly.

The Empress crossed her ‘t’ angrily and continued writing.

“As well written as I’m sure this response will be, you have no place in the scholarly world aside from funding. You may as well adopt an elven child while you’re at it and parade it about in front of the court and ask for their blessing.”

Celene stiffened but Seryl couldn’t be sure which nerve she had touched upon.

“Simply have this scholar fired, or killed.”

“But then nothing is learned, Seryl. Only fear, as always, is perpetuated.”

“I didn’t say it was easy.”

The softness of Seryl’s tone caused Celene to raise her head, dropping her quill onto the parchment. She placed an empty sheet of parchment into the book to keep her place and closed it, setting it on her lap. There was no need to say anything. She and Seryl were too good at the Game for excess words. They were silent for a moment with nothing but the crackling fire between them before Seryl sighed and began to fish for her flask.

“Llowen is dead.”

Celene closed her eyes. Another elf dead by her hand. She squeezed the book in her lap tightly, her hand burning from all of the writing she had done today. She welcomed the pain.

“I wish you hadn’t done that.”

“I wish I didn’t have to do it. But you know as well as I that he could not have seen what he saw.”

“You blame me.”

“I blame the bleeding Marquise,” Seryl snapped, pausing to take a drink. “And the Game, and Orlais, and the bleeding Maker himself. Maybe I even blame Andraste’s tits. If they weren’t so well sculpted and  _everywhere_  maybe you would have gained a fondness for men and none of this would have happened. It doesn’t matter in the end. He is dead because it had to be so.”

Celene extended her hand in apology and Seryl placed her flask in it. The Empress took large, burning drink and her eyes watered as she handed it back. She longed to cough and ease the scratching but would not allow her to do so. The liquor seemed to agitate her headache and she closed her eyes as it pulsed around her skull in outrage before settling back into its pervasive ache.

“The Marquise is gone as well. I won’t tolerate blatant treason in my home. Do with that what you will. She left this morning and the rest of these blasted guests will follow soon after. I’m attributing it to my endearing but fluctuating temper.”

Celene smiled softly. “Thank you.”

Seryl placed her hand over Celene’s and patted it gently. “Take the time you need in here. Write your argument and let out your anger. Then burn it and move on. You’ve an empire to run, your majesty, and a great distraction out of your way.”

Seryl’s words sent a cool but comforting chill down Celene’s neck. It was all too easy to fall into complacency with Seryl and her joking and her vices. And it made it all the worse when she revealed the other side of herself. Cunning, cold, ruthless, everything Celene needed her to be. The Empress gave a nod and Seryl curtsied and left the room. She finished the tome and studied her notes but when the time came to articulate her response, her anger dwindled. Her head ached but her mind was tired, a rarity that might allow her to sleep tonight. She rose from the couch and gathered her notes, organizing them into a neat pile before she tossed them into the fireplace. She watched as the paper burned, ignoring the searing pain in her eyes, then left the room and made her way down the hall as matters of the empire took its reign over her thoughts.

 

* * *

 

It was not Felassan.

Briala turned slowly. Her bow and quiver were still strapped around her back, but there was no way she could lift them over her head to be of any use. Not while she had a staff pointed at her nose. She berated herself as she turned. She’d been so relieved to see Felassan again that she’d let her guard down, dulled her senses as she thought more about stew than her life. But it was too late now, and she would surely suffer the consequences. Briala gazed upon the vallaslin of the elf in front of her, a sense of regret filling her gut. Months later, after she had long been forgotten, Briala realized she should have killed Mihris.

The young Dalish mage had accompanied them through the Eluvians. She had tried to kill Michel, Celene’s champion at the time, and allowed herself to be possessed to do so. When Michel and Gaspard had battled for the Orlesian throne, Mihris cheated and enhanced Gaspard’s prowess to give him the upper hand. Everything about her screamed insolence, betrayal, and depravity. And yet Briala had let her go. She believed in second chances, second lives, after all. However, Mihris appeared not to have changed.

Mihris smiled and tipped the end of her staff. “Remove your bow.”

Briala had a dagger behind her back, buried under belt. Mihris might have seen it when her back was turned, but there was also a chance she hadn’t. It was a risk she had to take. Briala lifted her bow over her shoulders and dropped it to her side, her quiver following after. Something shuffled behind Mihris and Briala tilted her head to get a better look as her hand snaked behind her back. She was met with Mihris’ staff to her face. It slammed against her nose, the warped wood scratching her cheeks. Briala felt blood streaming from her nostrils as her head jerked back. She straightened, allowing the blood to drip down her lips and onto her armor as her eyes watered.

Mihris shook her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval. Keeping her staff level with Briala’s eyes, she reached around and pulled the dagger from Briala’s back before throwing it out into the tunnel. Then she chuckled darkly.

“You look disappointed, Briala. Hoping to see your facetious mentor instead?”

Briala felt her hands being pulled behind her back by what she could only assume was magic. It brought her wrists together and held them tightly as if bound by rope. She tugged on them and hissed as it sent a wave of pain burning through her nerves. Mihris lowered her staff, though she still gripped it tightly as she neared. She reached out and ran her hands over Briala’s chest and sides, smiling when her hand fell upon the ruby in her pocket. She fished it out and looked at it fondly, twisting the jewel between her fingers.

“Smaller than I remember,” she muttered to herself before putting it in her own pocket. “A few more seconds and we could have resolved this somewhat peacefully. It’s too bad your fool spies are delirious at this point.”

Mihris tapped her staff against the floor. The white jewel embedded in the wood began to glow, illuminating the cave. She moved to the side and gestured to the floor. Three elves were bound similarly to Briala and lay shivering on the floor. Their faces were ashen, lips chapped and peeling as they shivered against each other. They looked up at her with eyes hollow from hunger, faces bloodied and bruised. Variel and Sammet, as well as another Briala didn’t recognize. Her mouth fell open, hands burning as she tried again to break her arms free. When she couldn’t she made to step towards them and Mihris jabbed her staff into her gut, forcing her back. The light burned against her armor and the force knocked the breath out of her. She choked and straightened, glaring at the mage. Her body was exhausted from her journey, mind still reeling from Celene and lack of sleep but she would be strong for her agents. She had to.

Mihris eyed her for a moment before she brought her hand up. She appeared to struggle with lifting it, fingers curling, and Briala felt the ground beneath her shifting. There was the sound of branches snapping and Briala dared to look behind her. A tree was rising from the earth behind her. It was roughly as thick as Briala was wide and Mihris commanded it upward until it was a few feet over Briala’s head.

“You move too much, flat-ear,” she said as she broke the bond on Briala’s hands. “Too much like a  _shem.”_

Briala was free for only a moment before her arms wrapped around the tree behind her. They couldn’t reach each other with the width of the trunk but Mihris had applied the same magic, trapping her hands against the bark. Briala tried to move again and was subsequently burned, her wrists grating against the bark as they jerked with pain. Mihris chuckled, running a hand through her short hair.

“By all means, continue to struggle. The sight of you in pain amuses me.”

Briala forced herself to smile, blood dripping off of her lip as she did so. “Your magic has improved, Mihris. Found another demon to solve your problems for you?”

To Briala’s surprise, Mihris only laughed again. Briala guessed she was over ten years older than the mage in front of her, and still Mihris gazed upon her like one would a child.

“Not a demon, no, but a god.”

Briala frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Mihris’ face grew serious and she shook her head. “It matters not to you. I’m here to take back what was never yours.”

“The ruby? You already have it. Go then.”

“Do not mock me, flat-ear. I know I need the passphrase.”

Briala grinned, the blood from her nose staining her teeth and making her seem feral. “Shame. It would have been nice to see you smack your face against the glass.”

Mihris scowled. “Laugh while you can. If your spies could have kept quiet, you would have opened the Eluvian soon enough and I would have been on my way. But as it stands, we have to do this the hard way.”

Mihris hummed and made her way over to the three on the floor. She kicked at them with her feet, turning them over to see their faces. Her face broke into a grin as she gazed upon Variel and she tapped him with her toe.

“This one caught me spying. Funny how you city elves marvel at us so. It’s so easy to get close when you have this on your face.”

She wiped at her vallaslin disdainfully. A curious action, Briala thought. Perhaps she had been rejected by other Dalish clans.

“I subdued him quickly. But not quickly enough for the other not to hear.” She poked at Sammet. “If you had just whispered the passphrase and gone back on through, all of this would have been avoided. But no.” Her eyes met Briala’s. “You always have to ruin everything. This one came along later. Is he one of yours?”

Briala guessed that this elf had followed her spies in hopes of recruitment. It happened often enough. He was younger than Variel and Sammet, barely a man, and he shivered under Mihris’ foot. He would not meet Briala’s eyes and so Briala did not answer. Mihris gave an apathetic hum and lifted the elf by the collar of his shirt, dragging him in front of Briala. He trembled at her feet. Briala pulled at the magic again, but the pain seemed to get worse with every effort and she felt certain her wrists would snap. He still would not meet her eyes, but she refused to leave his. She didn’t know who he was, but she would not allow him to feel alone in this moment.

Mihris picked up the dagger that she’d pulled from Briala and smiled at it before lifting the elf to his feet. He squealed, his skeletal legs rocking unsteadily as they tried to carry his weight. Mihris placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“Weak. They all are. I haven’t fed them since I captured them. It’s been…oh, days. They watched as you came the first time. So close to setting them free. But then you set off into the forest. You should have seen the look on their faces. So upset. Their leader cared not for them.”

Briala thought back to the first time she found the Eluvian. She remembered the merchant telling her that their armor had not come yet. Her spies were behind and she had failed to check up on them. They had been starving because of her. Anger roiled in her gut and she grit her teeth as she kept her eyes locked on the boy.

“Don’t listen to her, Marquise,” Variel called from his pile on the floor. He smiled, teeth caked with his own dried blood. “We’re only pretending to be hurt. She hits like a nug.”

Mihris brought her staff down on Variel’s back and Briala could not control her flinch. Variel winced at the blow but chuckled. He nudged Sammet who looked a great deal weaker, but even he managed a nod.

“See? What’d I tell you? A  _nug_  could—

He stopped as Mihris placed the dagger against the unknown elf’s throat. Briala tried to keep her expression calm. Showing fear would only spur Mihris on. She had to act quickly, distract her somehow. Though she had slowed, her correspondence with the Dales and her spies had not ceased. If she could keep them alive for a few days someone was bound to notice and send help. They had to.

“How did you manage to sneak into the Imperial Palace?” she asked, adding a touch of awe to her voice.

Mihris’ smile widened proudly and Briala fought to keep her own smile from her face. “You told me once that the flat-ears saw me as a myth of sorts. It wasn’t hard to find a servant and catch her fancy with talk of my people. No one pays attention to the servants who walk the halls, and she gladly delivered whatever I wished.”

“I can’t imagine Celene’s servants turning on her so easily.”

Mihris shook her head. “You want to know who it was. It’s of no importance to you, Marquise. You will not live to see her another day, assuming you saw her at all. If I gave you a name, would you be able to match it to a face? Do you know the names of every servant made to serve your pretty lover? That  _shem_ will always be filthy, no matter how many glorious baths she takes.”

Briala’s muscles tensed and she allowed anger into her expression, hoping that Mihris would continue to antagonize her. She was hungry and tired, but she could endure whatever the mage threw her way. Her spies had suffered enough. This unknown man had suffered enough.

“She is better than you will ever be,” Briala challenged.

Mihris dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “She is not. She is a human. And soon they’ll all be irrelevant.”

She pressed the knife deeper into the elf’s neck. He whimpered, tears cleaning the grime from his cheeks. “Tell me the passphrase.”

Briala knew that she could not. Mihris could kill all three of them but she could not tell her. To give Mihris the passphrase was to put her people at risk. Hundreds of them walked through the Eluvians whether they were soldiers, smugglers, families seeking a better life. Briala thought back to the corpses she had seen while inside the Eluvians with Celene. They had been trapped inside, destined to starve and wither away with no hope of escape. She would not give the passphrase, even if it ended her life. Mihris had responded well to her tactic earlier, so she tried again.

“Where is Felassan?”

“Dead.”

Mihris smiled at the grief that flooded into Briala’s eyes. “Yes, that pesky elf was worthless from the start. Did you know that he was supposed to take this ruby from you? And the passphrase? Years gaining your trust, wasted. Imbecile.”

Briala thought back to her last real conversation with Felassan. He had silenced her when she tried to give the passphrase and his lips lingered against her forehead before he disappeared. Had she not been so overwhelmed with her new duties, she would have noticed that he was saying goodbye for the last time. Tears filled her eyes and for the sake of the boy she let them fall. Mihris chuckled darkly, taking in the sight of her enemy in anguish. But the knife against the boy’s throat did relax. Briala only hoped she could keep the mage distracted enough for help to arrive. If Felassan and Mihris were supposed to have the same goals, she trusted Felassan’s choice to not learn of the passphrase.

“How?” Briala ground out.

“He failed my master and was subsequently punished.”

Briala frowned. There was no breach all those months ago when Briala last saw Felassan. There was no Corypheus. But he seemed to the only great power she knew of with an arrogance to match.

“Your master? Corypheus?” she dared.

Mihris threw her head back and laughed before she fixed Briala with that same patronizing glare. “Corypheus is a wide-eyed circle mage compared to my master.”

“Then who—

“P-please,” the boy in Mihris’ hands spoke, his body trembling against the knife. “Please let me go. I don’t know this woman. I don’t know anything about this mirror. Please, I was a fool to leave my home.”

Briala’s heart sank into her stomach. In her peripheral, Variel lowered his head. She tried to make her expression look like betrayal in hopes of confusing Mihris, but the mage paid her no mind. Instead she looked down at the boy with a furrowed brow.

“You know nothing of this?” she asked, reaching out to tap the Eluvian with her dagger.

“I don’t. I swear I don’t.”

Mihris sighed and gave a shrug. “Then you are of no use to me.”

Briala felt something in her wrist snap as she pulled against the magical bonds, but it was no use. Mihris slit the knife along the boy’s throat and dropped him to the ground. There was a horrendous gurgling sound, the smack of skin against thick blood, then the boy stilled. Mihris pressed her staff against the boy’s back and pushed him to the side of the cave, a fresh red streak following him. Then she made her way over and grabbed the closest, Sammet, and pulled him up with her. He gazed at Briala’s tear stained eyes and she lifted her chin, fixing him with the same look Celene used to give her. The look that made her feel impervious. She watched Sammet swallow once before he lifted his chin as well, standing tall despite his fatigue.

Mihris grinned between them both. “Let’s try this again, shall we?” 


	20. Chapter 20

Celene hated to admit it, but the few days following Briala’s departure had fared much better without the Marquise. The nobility had departed per Seryl’s request and Celene and Anora were able to easily ignore the past and continue on with the future without having to see Briala in the halls as a reminder. Celene still missed her and knew that in some ways she always would. But the pain of betrayal hurt far worse than her heartache and she accepted it, used it to spur her forward. History proved that Celene was the most capable when she lost everything and she forced herself to remember that fact.

The air was cool and crisp against Celene’s chin as she stood at the top of the stairs of Lady Seryl’s estate. It was still dark out, dawn hinting just over the horizon and Celene welcomed the darkness as it was easier on her eyes and head. Queen Anora was leaving Orlais today, and given the long journey it required an early departure. Celene idly watched as her carriage was loaded with Inquisition and Ferelden soldiers taking their positions in the front and back of it. Josephine Montilyet would travel with her for a short distance before the Inquisition would branch off and head back to Skyhold. Celene tried not to think of what the two would discuss during their travels.

Josephine was pleasant all throughout her visit but she was also well trained in the Game. She made no mentioned of the compromising situation she found Celene in and it worried the Empress. If she wished, Josephine could blackmail Celene for more support of the Inquisition, or selfishly have the Empress herself try to reinstate her family’s trade in Orlais. But she said nothing, alluded nothing, and her smile was always sincere. Celene found it unnerving but refused to let it show, trusting in her alliance with Anora. Josephine could not blackmail the Empress without also offending her new ally. At least, that was how Celene would work it should the situation rise.

Lady Seryl stood by Celene’s side, sober but smelling of tobacco. It agitated Celene’s head but she kept it to herself. Seryl had shown once again just what she was willing to do for Celene’s empire. The least Celene could do was tolerate her smoking. With the nobility gone, Seryl’s estate was much quieter, calming even to a certain extent. Celene felt protected inside the chevalier lined walls, comforted by Seryl’s familiar, if explicit conversations. It was not unlike when she went through the Eluvians with Briala. With only her loyal champion and a group who would either be dead or kill her by the end of it, Celene felt free for the first time in years. It was still hard and painful, but she could take Briala’s hand whenever she wished, hold her at night, and allow her face to express the emotions she truly felt.

But nothing lasted forever, and Celene relaxed her face into its typical impassive stare. The doors opened behind her and Celene turned, dipping her head to Josephine Montilyet, who curtseyed before her. Josephine smiled widely and Celene could see only kindness in her eyes, which she dared not trust.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” she said, her rich Antivan accent warming the cool morning, “it has been a pleasure mediating between you and Queen Anora. The Inquisition hopes my involvement has only served to strengthen the ties between us.”

Seryl coughed behind Celene, clearly unsure about Josephine as well, and the Empress watched as Josephine looked behind her. Seryl could shoot down a darkspawn with one look—and claimed to have done so—but Josephine met her steely glare with a raised chin and an arrogant smile. A challenge. Celene resisted the urge to smile at Josephine’s strength and gave a nod.

“You faced many difficulties while here, Lady Montilyet. Your time with the Inquisition has only improved your masterful delegation skills. I, too, trust that you see Orlais as the ally she is.”

Josephine knew Celene was fishing and the Empress watched as her already kind eyes softened even more. She sighed and looked out past the estate for a moment.

“The Inquisition…and myself, are most sympathetic to your cause, your radiance. The Inquisitor makes for Emprise du Lion soon and it wouldn’t do to inundate her with irrelevant information. I will state that these talks went off more or less without incident, and no questions will be asked.”

“And your spymaster?” Celene had met Leliana on previous occasions and knew the secrets and lies that came with being the Left Hand of the Divine. Though the Right Hand was still by Leliana’s side, Celene had a feeling that Leliana liked to do as she wished. And with a trove of information at her disposal, Celene wouldn’t put it past the bard to use it to her advantage, despite Leliana having said in the past that she was sympathetic towards her and the elves.

Josephine allowed herself to smile, and Celene recognized that she was remembering something fondly. “Our spymaster is…pliable enough when spoken to in the correct manner.”

“A manner only you know, I take it,” Celene answered, allowed a soft smile to grace her lips.

Josephine dipped her head and curtseyed again, an answer and a non-answer all in one, and descended the steps towards the carriage. Celene knew Anora would follow shortly after and she turned and awaited the queen. Seryl stood by her side and in the few moments of privacy, she nudged Celene with her elbow.

“I’m impressed, your majesty,” she whispered. “You’ve handled the situation marvelously. Gaspard would be ass deep in darkspawn shit at this point.”

Celene hummed in response, deciding to wait for Seryl to make her real point.

“Now, the question is, are you going to let the Marquise keep her title? I’ve got an  _imbecilic_  nephew you could appoint in her stead.”

“You wish to control the Dales, too?”

“You must admit, majesty, it’s quite an extensive bit of land that is wholly loyal to you.”

Celene closed her eyes as the sun began to crest over the horizon. Seryl meant well, but despite Briala’s treachery, the truth could not be ignored. Briala was a brilliant leader and worked tirelessly to unite the elves. She had promised time and again that the elves would not suffer for their love and that was one promise she could keep. At least for now.

“It is tempting, Seryl, but the Marquise will keep her title. It sends the wrong message to appoint and strip so suddenly. Besides, it would likely anger the elves.”

“Very well,” Seryl answered with a sigh. “You really do care for the elves, don’t you? Beyond the Marquise?”

Celene fought the urge to purse her lips. Her face was growing numb in the cold and she looked to the door in hopes of seeing Anora approach.

“The Marquise opened my eyes. But it is my choice to continue to see.”

“Well, you’ve opened many an eye with your efforts,” Seryl said, rocking back and forth on her heels. “I admit, I used to call ‘em knife-ears, used to swat out at them in anger. That was wrong. We all were. I don’t know if I’ll still be around to see them uplifted as equals, but I can say I was around for the beginning.”

“Thank you, Seryl.”

“Good, now that I’ve buttered you up, indulge my interests. Did you and the queen ever—

“Queen Anora,” Celene called gratefully as she approached.

The two dipped heads and Anora acknowledged Seryl as she curtseyed to her.

“Your radiance,” Anora began, “I thank you for your hospitality. Orlais is beautiful, a testament to the woman who rules it.”

Celene could make out Seryl in the corner of her eye trying desperately not to comment. Seryl pursed her lips and continued to rock on her heels, watching the scene eagerly from her peripheral.

“Perhaps we have paved the way for Ferelden to someday return the hospitality. A kingdom ruled by such a capable woman is no doubt a sight to see.”

Anora smiled. “When the war is won, I’m certain there will be many things to discuss.”

The queen turned, her dress covering up the fact that she took Celene’s hand and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Anora knew it would show weakness on Celene’s part for the queen to be seen comforting her, and Celene was grateful for her discretion.

“Take care, your radiance. I would see you well when all of this is over.”

Celene swallowed and managed to squeeze Anora’s hand as she gave a nod. “And I you, your majesty.”

Anora nodded and released her hand, turning to make her way down the stairs. Celene and Seryl watched until the carriage was out of sight, as was customary, and when the gates finally closed behind them, Seryl let out a sigh.

“Thank the Maker that’s over. Care for a drink, Celene? Or perhaps some breakfast? No one here but your people and mine. I can finally walk around in my underclothes again.”

“You most certainly cannot,” Celene said as they walked back into the estate.

“True, I’d hate to distract you. You’re a lovely woman, Celene, but I require somewhat more of a manly touch.”

“That’s good to know.”

Seryl peered over at the Empress, concern showing in her eyes. “You must be distracted if even I cannot get a rise out of you.”

Celene sighed and glanced at Seryl. “It has been quite the exhausting trip. Like you, I would like to revel in the peace.”

“I understand, your majesty. Shall I send for breakfast? I’ve got the most wonderful spiced tea from Rivain.”

“Thank you, Seryl, that would be lovely.”

Seryl nodded and placed a hand on Celene’s shoulder before leaving to tend to breakfast. Celene watched her go. She longed to cross her arms and lean against the wall for support, but there were still people about and so she kept her back straight and allowed her mind to wander for a moment as she made her way to her bedchambers.

Jenara and Adele stood waiting by the door for her, and she beckoned them both inside to discuss their duties for the day. She had no sooner closed the door behind her when she heard a knock on the other side. Adele frowned and the Empress allowed her to step forward and answer the door, hand on her sword just in case. She spoke softly to the person on the other side before looking back at Celene.

“One of the Marquise’s spies wishes to speak with you.”

Jenara’s ear twitched in Celene’s peripheral and the Empress gave a nod. Adele pulled the door back and allowed the man inside. He was broad shouldered for an elf and carried himself in a similar fashion to the Marquise, aware of his worth and unafraid to show it. Celene nodded at him when he rose, her senses on high alert. Adele kept her hand on her sword and Jenara continued to tremble in the corner of the room.

“Your majesty, forgive my impudence, but the Marquise has not yet returned to the Dales. We have lost contact with her.”

Celene felt her throat go dry. Her hands twitched against her dress but she forced her face to remain calm as she gauged the elf for any signs of deceit. He appeared to be telling the truth, but any agent of Briala’s could be just as skilled as her in the Game.

“You were unable to track her carriage?” she asked, watching as he shook his head.

“She did not take a carriage, majesty. Seryl’s staff reports that the Marquise was gone when they came to fetch her. Her agents to Jader have also not checked in, which is why I’ve come to you. I believe the Marquise has gone to a nearby Eluvian and I know you have experience with the mirrors as well. Do you know where the Eluvian is?”

Celene’s mind flashed to a memory: grisly elven corpses left to starve within the Eluvians, cold and alone, reborn from dark magic as mindless beasts. Her daggers tearing through their skin, killing them for the second time. The Empress closed her eyes, forcing the thought from her mind as she focused on the elf in front of her.

“I do not.”

He sighed, teeth running angrily over his bottom lip. “I see. Thank you, your majesty. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

He bowed again and turned to leave, stopping when he heard the Empress’ voice.

“What is your name?”

“You may call me Dirge, your majesty.”

Celene saw Adele frown behind him, no doubt confused at the name as well. The Empress didn’t know if he was using a fake name because he didn’t trust her or if all of Briala’s spies went by pseudonyms. Either way she squared her shoulders and met his eyes.

“What do you plan to do?”

He eyed her warily for a moment, his eyes drifting to Jenara in the corner. Celene watched from her peripheral as Jenara lifted her head and met his eyes. She gave the barest hint of a nod and Celene watched Dirge’s shoulders fall in defeat.

“I will make my way to the elven merchants and ask around.”

“May I send Jenara with you to aid in your search?”

Celene gestured to her handmaiden who kept her head raised and Dirge narrowed his eyes.

“Your concern for the Marquise is surprising, considering you’re the one who bade her leave.”

Celene decided against correcting him. He’d already made his decision about her and any excuse she gave would be seen as a lie.

“I am the Empress and the Marquise is loyal to me. I would see her unharmed and returned to the Dales.”

Dirge’s eyes flitted from Celene to Jenara. The Empress knew he remained unconvinced and she made a step towards him.

“You are here alone, are you not, Dirge?” she asked calmly, meeting his eyes. “You are the last remaining tie to the Marquise. If we lose you we lose our chances of recovering her. I would not see you injured or worse, especially since we both suspect foul play at hand.”  

Dirge sighed again and rubbed his hands together. Finally, he dipped his head in acknowledgement to the Empress and gestured for Jenara to follow him. Jenara looked to Celene, who gave a single nod, then stepped to Dirge’s side.

“Return when you find its location,” Celene ordered. “Jenara is not to be endangered under any circumstances.”

“As you say, majesty,” Dirge answered through clenched teeth.

Celene knew it was a risk to make orders of one of Briala’s people, but she was still the Empress. And Jenara’s timidity made her easy to trust, but also easy to overpower. She was the closest ally Celene had, and the Empress could not fathom the thought of losing her as quickly as she’d lost so many others. She met Jenara’s eyes as Dirge turned to leave and fixed her with a confident smile. Jenara returned it meekly and followed Dirge out, ignoring Adele’s imploring eyes as she passed. Celene noticed the chevalier’s hand tightening on her sword and waited until the door was safely shut behind them before speaking.

“She will be fine, my champion.”

Adele’s eyes widened and her hand fell from her sword. “Of course, your majesty.”

There was tension in Adele’s voice and Celene raised her eyebrow in the chevalier’s direction. “Something else troubles you.”

Adele shook her head. Celene sighed and reclined into a nearby chair, giving a wave of her hand. “You may speak freely. Maker knows I could use some honesty.”

Adele licked her lips, considering her words before she stepped forward.

“Your majesty, it is not my place to say, but if the Marquise is danger…dare I say she deserves it? She sought to hurt you, remove you from the throne, and sever your already weak ties with Queen Anora. Why risk saving her life when it’s clear she cares nothing for yours?”

Celene gave a soft smile and ran her finger along the marble table by her side. Adele knew so little, just like Seryl, Anora, all of them. Only Celene and Briala could truly understand their love for each other as well as their hatred. But seeing Adele’s unwavering loyalty was still a comfort in these trying times. And, as much as she hated to admit it, it would be easier if Briala died. She would suffer greatly, mourn her loss, but be able to move on, no longer tethered by her last shred of humanity. It would be better for the people of Orlais if she lost everything about herself and became ruler in body and mind. But just as Briala could never kill her, neither could Celene do the same. She loved her too much, and always would. Even if they never saw each other again. The love that Celene felt for Briala was the only shred of herself Celene still felt. Her love was the only part of her untainted by the Game. Or it was, before Briala’s betrayal.

“She cares for me,” Celene said after a moment. “Perhaps she doesn’t show it, but she does. Just as I don’t often show how much I care for her. It is a strange circumstance, and it often doesn’t make sense. But I cannot let her die, my champion.”

“But, your majesty, she will ruin you.”

“Perhaps. But only if I allow her to.” Celene looked up into Adele’s eyes and Adele looked politely away when she saw tears lining her eyes. “I pray you never have to entertain such ideas,” Celene offered after a moment.

Adele sighed. “And I you, your majesty.”

 

* * *

 

Jenara did not return until after dinner. Celene kept Briala’s disappearance to herself and kept Seryl preoccupied by playing into her games and innuendos. She did not need to cause more of a stir than was necessary. Adele stayed by Celene’s side, growing tenser by the moment but the Empress could hardly blame her. She too grew concerned for Jenara’s absence and silently prayed that she had not sent the elf to her death.

Celene made her way down the hall to her bedchambers with Adele following behind. As they neared, Celene noticed Adele skipped a step in her march and looked up to see fire red hair making its own way down the hall. The Empress quickened her pace just slightly and smiled at Jenara as she neared. The elf appeared breathless, but unharmed and she curtseyed before the Empress before following her inside. Celene kept her back turned for a few moments, allowing Adele and Jenara to share whatever small touches or glances were necessary before she faced the elf.

“Did you find it?” she asked.

Jenara nodded and dipped her head. “Yes, majesty. But I’m afraid Dirge did as well and ran off without returning.”

“Unsurprising,” Celene answered with a nod.

He felt superseded by her demands. She saw it in his eyes when he left, heard it in the grit of his teeth. But she trusted Jenara to bring her the information, regardless of Dirge’s intent. Whether he needed it or not, he was getting Celene’s help. Jenara described how to get to the Eluvian and Celene transcribed it on parchment. When she finished she extended the parchment to Adele, who took it slowly.

“Find her, my champion,” Celene ordered. “Make sure she is safe, and any others with her as well.”

Adele nodded, noticing the twitch of Jenara’s ear in her peripheral. She smiled to the elf before pocketing the note, bowing, and taking her leave. Celene sighed as Adele left. The chevalier was the most capable soldier around for miles. She had put her faith in Adele to protect her own life and she had to put her faith in her to protect Briala’s life as well. She only hoped they weren’t too late. Her heart had been racing ever since Dirge told her of Briala’s disappearance. All day she kept intrusive thoughts at bay, thoughts of Briala injured, trapped, or worse. She longed to put on armor and race after Adele, but such things were impossible.

Jenara appeared by her side, a cup of tea in her hand. She must have brewed it while Celene was lost in thought and the Empress smiled distractedly at her as she took it, taking a deep sip. It burned her tongue and she swallowed quickly, running her tongue along the roof of her mouth to soothe the pain.

“There is something else, your majesty,” Jenara said quietly.

Celene raised an eyebrow and looked Jenara’s way. The elf produced a folded piece of parchment from her pocket and extended it to the Empress. Celene unfolded it and recognized Jenara’s handwriting. But the words were not her own. She read a few lines before she felt a knot forming in her throat, and she closed the letter for a moment to regain control.

“This is your handwriting,” she said to buy herself some time.

Jenara nodded. “Yes, your majesty. They cannot write. That is why they never sent a response to your letter.”

Celene placed her hand to her mouth and contemplated the procedures of establishing schools or sending tutors to elven occupied neighborhoods. She filed that idea away for later and opened the letter, reading the response from Aeian’s parents. They were kind, humbled, grateful, everything Celene knew she did not deserve from them. She had killed their son, after all, when she sponsored him at the university. Used him for political gain and allowed him to be killed in her stead. Celene read the letter over again and pursed her lips, folding it back.

“You found them?” she asked Jenara.

The elf shook her head. “They found me, majesty. They saw the crest of the Empress on my dress. Your kindness does not go unnoticed.”

Celene hummed, unable to find a better response, and looked out the window. It was dark, the sky its same sickly green and Celene prayed for strength for Adele and safety for the others. Her palms began to shake, and Jenara dipped her head as the Empress crumpled the letter in her hands.


	21. Chapter 21

Briala lost track of time. Light did not come this far into the cave and the hours began to meld together as exhaustion and hunger overtook her. Mihris allowed them water but nothing else and her stomach had long since stopped aching, her head taking over. Briala’s entire skull pounded against her brain, shooting out in all directions. Her vision was fuzzy, thoughts clouded, and her wrist ached constantly. Her legs trembled beneath her, threating with every breath to give and she locked her knees. If her legs gave, her arms would most certainly snap from the bonds. Her armor was torn, shoulder exposed and burned from when Mihris cast ice upon it to keep her awake. She was certain she looked a mess.

But Variel and Sammet were still alive, and it was enough to keep her eyes open. Briala smiled at Sammet who had fresh blood dripping from his pale face. He looked gaunt, sickly, but his eyes stayed locked with hers as Mihris paced behind him, her patience waning. Briala had garnered little information from the mage, who liked to punish Sammet whenever she got too inquisitive. She had learned that Mihris wrote the letters herself, going off of what she knew of Felassan in the Eluvians and relied on her contact in Celene’s court to gain information about Briala’s day to day activities.

Thankfully, in keeping up with the three of them, Mihris had gotten precious little sleep as well and was becoming clumsier. Though Briala’s head ached to think, she had to push forward. In the time they spent together, Briala never saw Mihris enter the fade as Felassan did. She made no comment about being a somniari and neither did she seem powerful enough to be one. Mihris’ staff pressed into her stomach and Briala grimaced, turning her attention back to the mage.

“Dozing, were you?” she asked, kicking her knee to the back of Sammet’s head

He fell forward and caught himself on his hands, straightening on his knees again and keeping his eyes locked with Briala. Mihris watched the action and chuckled as she brought water to Variel’s lips. He drank eagerly and flashed her a glare when she moved away, giving some to Sammet as well. When he finished she refilled the cup and brought it to Briala’s lips. Briala hated how gentle she was when giving water and flinched at the mage’s hand on her head. Mihris ignored it and tipped the cup against her lips, allowing Briala to down the entirety. Briala licked her lips as Mihris stepped away and watched as the mage drank some water for herself before pulling a piece of dried meat from her pack. She pulled a small piece of and placed it on her tongue, smirking at Briala before she started chewing.

Briala rolled her eyes and pretended to be indifferent. Sammet, however, had been without food for much longer and he looked imploringly at Mihris, hands shaking in his invisible bonds. Mihris turned her eyes to him and chewed slower, pulling another piece and dangling it in front of him. Briala felt anger rising in her chest, her mind clearing just a bit as she lifted her head.

“You’re not somniari, are you?” she asked, smirking as Mihris turned and fixed her with a glare.

“What do you know of that, flat-ear?”

Briala pretended to look surprised. “You mean, you weren’t the one who visited me in my dream?”

Mihris stepped closer, lip upturned in a snarl as she gripped tightly to her staff. The bags beneath her eyes were heavy and black and Briala forced herself not to think of how they reminder her of Celene in this moment.

“You lie. You received no visitor.”

“Well, I thought it was Felassan. They introduced themselves as such, and looked like him. But clearly it wasn’t, if you say he’s dead. And if you’re not a somniari then I have to wonder…did your master contact me directly?”

“Impossible,” Mihris spat. “You’re not even a mage. You don’t have the capacity to entertain such a blessing.”

Briala smiled, relaxing against the tree at her back. “I sense jealousy, Mihris. Your master never contacted you in such a way, did he? If it wasn’t for him, I never would have come to Jader in the first place.”

Mihris’ face fell as understanding filled her eyes. She dipped her head, gripping her staff. “My contact said you were not coming to Jader and I wrote to my master for help. I assumed he would have sent a letter back. To contact you in the Fade…you…” she drifted, brow furrowing as she glared at Briala.

“He didn’t trust you to do this yourself,” Briala challenged, watching Mihris snarl again. “He probably thought I was going to kill you and he’d be rid of you forever. It’s been less than a year since we saw each other, Mihris. You expect me to believe this master of yours is all powerful and just happened to find you after you’d already given yourself to a demon?” Briala laughed despite the searing pain in her head.

“Go ahead and laugh,” Mihris taunted with flushed cheeks. “It’s you that brought us together anyway.”

Briala feigned surprise again to play at Mihris’ arrogance, and the mage smirked, nodding as she stepped nearer.

“I was in the Hinterlands, scouting for clans to tell them about your so called army. I came across him and…” Mihris’ eyes drifted downward, glazing over as she lost herself in the memory. “He  _knew_  me. He could read me like never before. I was certain he was a spirit. And magic radiated from him that was so strong it had to be unnatural. He contacted me shortly after,  _in my dreams_ ,” she shot a glare at Briala, “and told me the truth of things.” She gave a dark chuckle. “You know nothing, flat-ear. Nothing at all.”

“Then tell me.”

“But you,” Mihris continued, ignoring her as she pointed her staff at Briala’s still swollen nose. “You are interfering with his plans. Tell me the passphrase.”

Briala saw Sammet straighten in her peripheral, eyes focused as he fought to keep his weak body from swaying. He was trying to be strong for her. Briala swallowed the knot in her throat and shook her head.

“I won’t, Mihris,” she said with a resolute shake of her head.

Mihris swung her staff and pointed it at Sammet. “He will die if you don’t.”

Briala clenched her jaw as she looked to Sammet. “ _Ir abelas_ ,” she said.

Sammet’s lips were pursed and tears lined his pale eyes. But he shook his head at her. He swallowed and collected himself before he opened his mouth. His voice was hoarse from lack of use but he spoke with pride.

“It was an honor to serve you, Marquise,” he managed. “You do a fat lot more for your people than this painted hag ever will.” He turned his head to Mihris and spat at her. “Dread Wolf take you.”

Mihris cackled and pulled the dagger from her waist. She slit his throat quickly and Sammet fell to the floor. Briala didn’t look away until the life left his eyes, then she lowered her head as Mihris dragged him to the side of the room where the first boy lay. Briala was certain he was starting to smell, but she must have been used to it at that point. Mihris heaved a sigh when she placed him and made her way over to Variel, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him in front of the Marquise.

Variel screaming and struggled weakly as she pulled, and Briala noted the fear in his eyes. It was the first time he’d shown it since she arrived, but she could hardly blame him. He gasped as she pulled him to his knees and Briala watched as he closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“I’ll tell you,” he said between choked sobs. “Maker, please don’t kill me. I’ll tell you the passphrase.”

Briala’s heart hammered in her chest. “Variel, you can’t. Think of the—

“I’m sorry, Marquise,” Variel stammered as he continued to shake his head. “I cannot take this blasted place anymore. She’ll kill me anyway, and then you. And the people need you.”

Mihris’ eyes widened and she patted Variel on the head. “I should have started with you. I thought you were the strongest of them all but…” she clicked her tongue and pulled Briala’s ruby from her pocket. “Tell me the passphrase, and you both will walk free.”

Variel met Briala’s eyes, saw the tears streaming down her cheeks, and sighed.

“Nug butts. The passphrase is nug butts. No, no, please don’t hit me!” he shouted, wincing as Mihris raised her staff. “I swear to whatever you believe in that’s the phrase. Isn’t it, Marquise? Please, tell her?”

Briala clenched her jaw, snarling up at Mihris as she gave a single nod. “Had to make it unbelievable.”

Mihris scowled at the two of them, rolling the ruby between her fingers. She heaved a sigh and made her way to the Eluvian, climbing the steps. It shimmered as she neared with the ruby and Mihris placed her hand to it, finding that it was still solid. She licked her lips and leaned towards the glass. Though she tried to whisper it, both Variel and Briala could still hear.

“Nug butts,” she murmured to the glass.

The mirror continued to shimmer and Mihris placed her hand against it, finding it still solid. Variel blew a raspberry through his lips and fell forward on his knees, smacking his bound hands against the ground.

“Maker, she said it, Marquise! Did you hear that? What a bleeding idiot.”

He continued to laugh as Mihris descended the stairs. Briala allowed herself to smile in spite of herself, though it was quickly wiped away as Mihris brought her staff down on Variel’s back. He groaned, knees giving out from underneath him. Variel rolled onto his back and brought his hands up to shield his face as Mihris slammed her staff into his stomach. She murmured something underneath her breath and fire touched the end of her staff. Briala forced herself to watch as she brought it to the side of Variel’s face and pulled on her bonds as he wailed at the pain. Her left wrist, certainly broken, forced her stop her efforts and she glared at Mihris as the mage pulled her staff away.

“Would you like to try that, again?” she snarled to Variel as he twitched beneath her.

The cave was silent save for the sound of Variel’s rushed breathing. Briala’s heart raced. Adrenaline coursed through her but it was no match for the magical bonds. Variel whimpered on the floor, slowly rising back to his knees. Briala saw the gnarled burn mark against his cheek, the blackened and wet skin that would forever serve as a reminder of her failure. Variel nodded, drool seeping from his clenched teeth as he met Mihris’ eyes.

“Fine, you win, you twisted Dalish bronto’s ass. The passphrase—and I’m serious this time—is ‘Andraste’s left tit.’ But you have to actually grab your left breast as you say it or it won’t work. I don’t make the rules.”

“Variel,” Briala breathed in disbelief, the emotion in her voice causing Mihris to still her hand.

She could not take her eyes from the burn on his cheek. And with this last insult Mihris was certain to show him no more mercy. She could have played her for longer, taken the pain for days if it meant keeping her people alive. He was throwing his life away. Then again, he wouldn’t be in this position if she’d done her job properly the first time. Tears fell down her cheeks and Variel tilted his head at her, giving a soft smile.

“Do not let her get to you, Marquise. We all knew what we signed up for. And we are happy to serve, in life…and beyond, if it comes to that.”

Briala shook her head. “I’ve failed you.”

“You yet live. And this thing,” he flicked his head towards Mihris, “is no closer to the Eluvians than when she started.  _And_  I got her to make a fool of herself in front of us. Job well done, I’d say.”

He tilted his head to the other side, wincing as he tried to smile. “You’ve only failed if you give up. We haven’t given up on you…Briala.”

Briala lifted her head and shook the tears from her eyes. Three people had died because of her. Many more would as well. But Variel was right. The Eluvians were still hers. As they spoke elves traveled through them with supplies, armies, tactics, helping refugees of war and building up their force. In the Dales, she knew elven children played in the fields and their parents were free. It was not enough to be happy, but it was enough to fight for. Briala allowed herself to smile, nodding once to Variel before turning her gaze to Mihris.

“You really do have to grab your left breast. And you have to say it with feeling. The Eluvian knows if you don’t mean it.”

Mihris sighed and the end of her staff began to scorch again. “This will not be swift,” she said to Variel. “Or painless. You brought this upon yourself. You and the Marquise.”

Variel nodded and lifted his head high, meeting Briala’s confident stare. Mihris raised her staff and brought it down.

 

* * *

 

Adele squinted at Celene’s directions in the darkness. Her mount, Aveline, nickered softly next to her, waiting for orders. The chevalier lifted her head and reached out along the outside of Jader’s city wall. After a few paces, her hand gave beneath the vines and she found the hole that Briala used to climb out of the city. Adele turned and marked the spot ahead in the trees and swung herself up on Aveline. The horse pawed at the ground, eager to move and Adele nudged her with her boot, taking them off into the woods. It had been awhile since she donned her armor and though it was heavy on her shoulders it spurred Adele’s excitement. She felt complete in her armor, finalized, and she reached down to grip the handle of her sword. She had failed Celene in the theater, she would not fail her now. Even if she didn’t think the Marquise worth saving.

Aveline moved swiftly through the forest foliage and as Adele looked for markers, she also looked for any threats. When they neared the knotted tree in Celene’s description, Adele slowed Aveline and tied her to a tree. She placed her hand to the horse’s muzzle, a silent thanks, and drew her sword and shield, watching her footing as she made her way through the forest. After a few careful paces, Adele made out a figure in the shadows ahead. The figure was clad in black, longbow drawn and aimed away from her. Adele dared closer and realized that the figure was aiming his bow down the tunnel of trees in the description. She crawled around the back of him and advanced, silent despite her heavy armor. She was a sword’s length away when the figure dropped his bow with a sigh, unhappy with his current shot.

Adele reached her sword out and placed it on his back. The figure stilled, head turning slowly. Adele recognized Dirge’s profile and they both breathed a sigh of relief as the chevalier crouched next to him.

“I don’t need your help,” he whispered as Adele squinted into the tunnel.

“Perhaps not. But two is always better than one.”

Dirge grunted and allowed the chevalier to study the tunnel. It was long and dark but there was a fire burning at the end. Adele could make out three fuzzy figures in the distance but the darkness made her eyes blurry. If she were to sprint as fast as she could down the tunnel, it would still take her a good ten seconds to reach them, and ten seconds was enough for anything to happen. They would bottleneck themselves if they didn’t go in with a plan.

“Any ideas?” she asked Dirge after a moment.

He lifted his longbow. “My eyes are better than yours. I’ve a shot at the mage, but it’s tight. If I miss, there’s no telling what she’ll do.”

Adele couldn’t even tell there was a mage down there but she when she looked to Dirge and saw the light reflecting off of his eyes, she thought it best to trust him. “Are there any other ways inside?”

“Not that I’ve found, but I don’t want to get to close and scare the mage.”

“I can’t see what’s going on in there.”

Dirge pointed into the tunnel with his arrow. “There’s a mage there that’s got Variel, one of Briala’s spies on his knees. Briala’s tied to something over there. I don’t know if there’s anyone else in there or not, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Adele sighed. “Mages need a few seconds to conjure spells. And if she doesn’t know we’re here, she likely doesn’t have her barrier up. Can you tell how their hands are bound?”

Dirge squinted, leaning forward. “I don’t see rope. Maybe twine?”

“Or magic. She’s already using mana to keep them bound, her barrier would be weak if it’s up at all.”

Dirge nodded, tapping the head of the arrow to his lips as he thought. “How fast are you, chevalier?”

“Pretty fast.”

“And pretty stealthy.” Dirge nocked his arrow and took aim. “Sneak down the tunnel as best as you can. I’ll keep watch on the mage and if she sees you, I’ll fire. Then it’s up to your speed to get to her before her spell gets out.”

“Hopefully we’ll just need the one shot,” Adele said, clapping him on the shoulder.

The elf looked at her hand, then gave her a single nod, drawing the arrow back. Adele crouched and began to move along the dark wall of the tunnel. Her armor echoed against the rocks and she was certain she would be heard before she made it to the end, but if she could shave some time off of her run, it greatly strengthened their advantage.

Dirge felt sweat dripping down his forehead. It fell down his nose and tickled but he didn’t dare move. The mage was still in his shot, but there was a narrow path between the edge of the tunnel and the Marquise. He would not risk hitting the Marquise, but that made his shot all the more risky. Variel looked worse for the wear, and Dirge knew that she had burned him. He’d considered taking the shot then, but the mage was moving too much for him to be sure. Guilt roiled in his chest and he used it to steady his aim. Dirge watched as Variel said something else, then spoke with the Marquise. There was a softness in his eyes, resignation, and the mage raised her staff. Dirge’s gut told him to fire and he let the arrow loose, praying the chevalier was as fast as she claimed.

Briala heard the arrow more than she saw it. Heard it whip past her ear and lodge itself in Mihris’s shoulder. Mihris screamed, dropping her staff as she fell back. She rose quickly and began to chant and Briala turned to look down the tunnel, nearly turning into the chevalier that raced past her. Mihris cast an ice wall in front of herself to buy time and Adele bashed it away with a single stroke of her shield. The mage tried to use her staff as a weapon, as she had many times on Briala and Variel, but she was no match for a chevalier. Adele brought her sword down and broke the staff in two, sending Mihris back and into the wall.

Adele hesitated, waiting for Mihris to yield, but the mage began to chant again and Adele thrust her blade cleanly between her ribs and into her heart. Briala watched as Mihris gasped, and her magical bonds fell away as the mage collapsed to the floor. In a matter of moments, their days of torment were over. Briala fell forward on shaking legs to Variel, who was still collapsed on the ground. She reached out to his uninjured cheek and cupped it.

“You did it, Variel,” she said with a weak smile.

Variel returned it, his eyes wide and breathing labored. “We did it. Shame we didn’t get to see her grab her tit, though.”

Briala allowed herself to laugh and extended her hand. Variel took it and the two quickly realize that she was too weak to lift him. Briala stumbled forward and Variel braced himself for her impact, but it never came. Opening his eyes, Variel eyed the soldier that had taken care of Mihris so quickly. She was tall, covered from head to two in shining armor and she held Briala by the shoulder, steadying her. The chevalier reached her hand out to Variel and pulled him up as if he weighed no more than a knapsack. His legs buckled at the sudden change and her other had went to his shoulder, steadying the both of them.

“Celene sent you?” Briala asked.

Adele turned her head and nodded before she gestured down the tunnel. “Yes, but it was him who found you, and distracted Mihris.”

Briala turned and saw Dirge jogging through the tunnel, longbow still in his hand. “Dirge,” she breathed, stepping forward and allowing herself to fall into his arms.

He held her awkwardly, no doubt confused by her effusive gesture, and coughed when she pulled away. “Just…just doing my job, Marquise,” he said with a dipped head before going to Variel and shaking his head.

“That looks bad,” he said as he studied Variel’s cheek.

“As does your shoulder…and wrist,” Adele said to Briala with a lift of her chin. “And…nose.”

“Cut us some slack,” Variel laughed as he sat on the steps leading to the Eluvian. “And hey, that mage had food in her pack. Bring us some, would you?” he asked, looking to Briala and patting the step next to him.

The two sat and watched as Adele and Dirge gave them water and what little rations were left before searching the campsite. Mihris had exhausted nearly all of her provisions and there was nothing of worth to take back. They found the two bodies stashed in the corner and Briala lowered her head as they discussed how to get rid of them.

“Let me do it,” Dirge said after a moment. “You’ve got a horse. You can get them back. I’ll take care of the dead.”

“That one,” Briala said weakly, pointing to the elf whose name she’d never learned. “He’s not ours. I think he’s from Jader. Please handle it delicately. Sammet, too, of course.”

“Of course, Marquise,” he answered kindly with a bowed head.

Briala nodded and rose from the steps, ignoring Adele’s offered hand and making her way over to Mihris. She sifted through her bloodstained pockets until she found the ruby. She smiled and placed it in her pocket, wiping her bloodied hands on her dress. Fatigue made her head swim again and she reached out to the wall, which turned out to be a foot farther away than she thought it was. Dirge caught her easily, keeping his eyes down to avoid embarrassing the Marquise. He handed her off to Adele who placed her hands under Briala’s arms. She did the same with Variel and they walked out of the tunnel together, Dirge following behind.

“Aveline can carry the three of us at a steady gallop back to Jader. With luck we’ll make it before sunrise and avoid too much notice,” Adele said, handing the elves to Dirge before untying her horse and climbing up.

She walked Aveline over by a rock and Dirge helped the elves to climb on it before helping them onto the horse. Despite everyone’s protestations, Variel sat behind Adele and promised to keep his arms locked around her the entire time. Briala swung herself up in front of the chevalier and gripped nervously at Aveline’s mane. Adele’s gloved hand came around her waist and held her steady while the other held the reins. Adele looked down at Dirge and gave him a nod.

“You saved them, Dirge. The Empress will hear of it.”

Dirge waved her way with his hands. “The only one I care about is falling asleep in your lap. Get them home safely, chevalier. I’ll be along once I’ve tended to the bodies.”

He reached out and slapped Aveline’s haunch but the charger was too well trained to react. Adele heard Dirge mumble an expletive under his breath and chuckled to herself as she nudged Aveline with her boot. They started slowly as they made their way out of the woods, Adele testing Variel’s grip. When the forest cleared she sent Aveline into a gallop, holding tightly to Briala who seemed like a rag doll in front of her. When she was able, she peered over and saw that Briala was indeed unconscious. She called back to Variel and when he squeezed his arms in response she spurred Aveline faster.

They reached Jader before dawn. The guards at the gate could not mistake Adele and her charger and they quickly sent word ahead to Seryl’s estate as the chevalier made her way through the city. A few people were out and they stared up at the tall soldier with two wounded elves in her arms. Adele kept her head high and did not relinquish her grasp on Briala’s waist, calling back to Variel every few minutes. As she neared the gates of Seryl’s estate, the gates opened and Adele spurred Aveline into a canter, slowing her when they reached the steps of the grand manor.

Seryl, Celene, and Jenara all stood at the top of the stairs as well as Seryl’s court mage and few people Adele could only assume were healers. Celene was still in her gown and mask and looked as immaculate as ever. Seryl pointed and the mage and healers raced down, taking Briala and Variel from Adele’s arms. The mage went to work on Briala immediately, a soft light emanating from her hands as Briala was carried up the stairs and into the house. Adele watched Celene as Briala passed, noting that the Empress looked at her intently, her hand lifting and then dropping it as she was carried inside. Variel followed quickly after and Adele watched Celene’s shoulders straighten as she handed her reins to a stable boy and ascended the stairs.

“Your majesty, Lady Seryl,” Adele said as she bowed before them.

“Ser Adele, you have exceeded my expectations,” Celene said calmly, and Adele knew it was for her benefit. Celene would have preferred Briala to be returned unharmed, but that was out of the chevalier’s hands. “No doubt you have much to tell us.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Celene beckoned Adele and turned with Lady Seryl to head into the manor. Jenara lifted her head to peer at the chevalier when she neared and dipped it again when she saw Adele smile at her. Adele dared to reach out and touch her shoulder. Jenara placed her hand over it and squeezed it once before removing it, scurrying to the side and out of reach. 


	22. Chapter 22

Celene stood in the doorway of Briala’s room, wringing her hands. Seryl had placed her in a secluded wing and barred everyone but the healers to enter. Variel was across the hall having his burn attended to, but there was nothing more they could do for Briala besides allow her rest and nourishment. Her shoulder was wrapped, the bandages visible through her loose nightshirt, and her wrist had been placed in a splint. The mage reduced the swelling but only time would tell if its delayed setting would have an effect. An oily salve was placed along Briala’s nose, healing the scratches and swelling naturally. Though heavily bruised, the healers did not believe it to be broken. Briala’s lovely, vibrant skin had grown pallid from her starvation and her hair was oily, the elf still too weak to properly bathe.

Stew sat on Briala’s bedside table, steaming. Celene eyed it and silently approved of the large chunks of meat that sat on top. She sighed, watching the elf’s chest rise and fall with even breaths. Briala had always been slender; elves were naturally such, and the few days of starvation showed worse on her than it would a human. Her cheekbones were sunken in, bones of her uninjured wrist straining out through thin skin. Muscles that she worked tirelessly to maintain now protruded awkwardly from her arms, a reminder of the strength she once had.

Celene eyed the stew again, attempting to swallow the knot in her throat. The pieces of meat were large, too large for one bite, and she considered cutting them for Briala. She looked behind her and into the hallway. A single guard stood at each end and across the hall she could make out the murmurings of healers as they discussed how to go about Variel’s burn.

Adele told her everything that she knew, which was very little. From her description of the mage it sounded like Mihris, the Dalish girl they had encountered during the civil war. Celene’s head ached at the thought and she brought a hand to her head, finger skimming over her hairline where a scar lay just hidden. She’d gotten that scar from a Sylvan, a cursed tree of all things, and Mihris had been the one to heal her. Celene felt sick and she dropped her hand back to her side, making her way into the room and closing the door behind her. Seryl had promised her privacy but she kept herself on alert anyway, grabbing a chair from the room and placing it by Briala’s bed.

The elf was a naturally light sleeper, and in the past Celene often felt guilty for waking her with a soft touch or sigh. She sat easily into the chair and eyed the meat again before dropping it to focus on Briala. Briala’s eyes raced back and forth beneath her eyelids, her journey into the fade no doubt being tumultuous. Celene closed her eyes. She longed to reach out and take Briala’s hand, press a kiss to her wrist, and feel the strong pulse beneath her lips. She wanted to ensure Briala felt safe with her. She wanted to cut the chunks of meat in the stew and nurse Briala back to health and go back to the way things were. But she could do none of those things.

Fear continued to linger at the back of her mind. She was a respectful distance away from Briala, hands clasped firmly in her lap, but still the idea toyed with her. Someone walking in unannounced and using her love for Briala as blackmail or worse. Someone somehow being able to see through the third floor window into this room and formulate ideas and assumptions about things they could never understand. Celene had always endured these thoughts, ever since Briala returned to her from killing Lady Mantillon, she feared getting caught. But complacency had gotten the better of her and Briala used it against her. Now it dominated her thoughts, wrapped its fingers around her heart, and squeezed whenever Celene came too close to Briala, too close to the only person she wanted, and the only thing that could ruin her.

Celene grit her teeth and rose easily from the chair, sliding past the bed to close the curtains. She was quiet, but as she pulled the second curtain closed she heard Briala sigh. She kept her hand on the curtain, lowering her head and closing her eyes as the elf came awake.

Briala opened her eyes slowly, thankful for the dim lighting that greeted her. Her shoulder and wrist felt tight, and as she grew more alert she felt the bandages against her skin, the salve on her nose. She smelled stew and her mouth watered, eyes roaming around the room. They stopped when they found the Empress in the corner, her back turned with her hand on the curtain. Briala swallowed, feeling the dryness of her throat and tried to rise. She put pressure on her left wrist and hissed as it protested, pulling it to her stomach as she shimmied upward with her good hand.

Celene turned at the sound, mask in place, and watched as Briala sat up in bed. Her hand on the curtain tightened its grip, then released as Celene made her way back over to the chair. She sat easily, her posture as perfect as an Empress’ should be, and gazed at Briala through reticent eyes. Briala’s eyelids were heavy, longing for sleep, but her hunger was more persuasive and she reached over to the tray beside her. Celene took the other side of the tray, balancing it for Briala as the elf brought it to her lap. She pulled her hand away quickly and watched silently as Briala cut the meat herself with her spoon and took an inelegantly large bite.

Briala chewed slowly and allowed the flavors to run over her tongue. The meat was tender and juicy and she had to fight to keep herself from swallowing it whole. She kept her head dipped and focused on cutting her meat to avoid Celene’s crystalline eyes. She could tell Celene was in her Empress mentality and knew she had to treat lightly. When she had woken up, a part of her was relieved to find Celene, comforted by her presence. But as clarity returned to her she remembered all too well the betrayal she had enacted, Celene’s cold words and broken heart. She remembered Mihris insulting Celene and the way it made Briala burn with anger. She saw the blank look in Celene’s eyes and was reminded of all that was between them now. No amount of sympathy for her torture could wipe it away, nor should it. Celene had made her choice, and Briala had made hers. She swallowed her stew and took another bite.

Celene was silent until the stew was half gone. When Briala’s ravenous spoon began to slow, she swallowed and spoke softly.

“Tell me what happened.”

Briala’s mouth twitched at the demand, her spoon swirling designs in the broth. She took another bite and pushed the food to the side of her mouth, speaking without concern of etiquette.

“How is Variel?”

“He will live. He’s being attended to across the hall.”

Briala sighed in relief, her back relaxing against the headboard as she swallowed her bite and dared to meet Celene’s eyes. “How long have I been asleep?”

Celene’s eyes moved lazily to the closed curtains. “For the day.”

There was a stiffness to her voice that made Briala’s throat tighten. Her gut told her that Celene still cared, but was hiding behind the Game due to her treachery. But her gut was also delirious from starvation, and another part of her wondered if Celene was well and truly finished with her, if she would lose her title as Marquise and all that had she had worked to build before she could redeem herself. Briala thought of Sammet and the unnamed boy before she remembered the ruby that was in the pocket of her armor. She looked down to her nightgown and swallowed, eyes lifting to search the room.

“Here,” Celene said, breaking her thoughts.

Briala looked to her and found the Empress had the ruby between her fingers. Celene studied it for just a moment before she reached over and placed it on the bedside table before bringing her hands back to her lap. Briala nodded her thanks and Celene made no motion to return it. She realized that Celene was still waiting for her to answer her question and she closed her eyes. She could just as easily not tell Celene. It wasn’t actually any of her business, save for the rogue informant amongst her court. But though there was much between them, Briala did not desire another enemy. Especially as one as formidable as the Empress. They could be allies, if nothing else.

Keeping her eyes closed Briala told Celene everything that happened, from the notes slipped by the informant to the somniari Mihris was sworn to. Celene kept silent throughout her tale, the only indication of her presence coming in the shifting of her gown or the deep breaths she took. When Briala finished she opened her eyes and looked to Celene. The Empress had steepled her fingertips in her lap and tapped them together as she considered Briala’s story.

“You weren’t able to find the name of her informant?” Celene asked softly.

“No.”

“Do you have any suspicions as to who it might be?”

Briala shook her head. “It was of no concern when I thought it to be Felassan. There are so many in your court, Celene.”

Celene nodded and Briala wasn’t sure if the Empress was agreeing with her or merely moving on.

“Well, they failed. The question that remains is are they more of a threat to you or to me?”

Briala allowed herself a stiff chuckle. “I can’t say I’ll be as trusting in the future of a friendly Dalish face.”

Celene did not smile. “If this…somniari of Mihris’ were to enter your mind again—

“I’m…conscious when that happens, Celene,” Briala interrupted, her brow furrowing as she tried to explain her strange experience. “I mean, I’m asleep, but my mind is awake. It is different from a dream. I will know it if it happens again.”

“But can you do anything against it? Can you know that this mage won’t manipulate the fade to make it seem like another dream? Or simply enter your mind and take the information they desire?”

Briala sighed and ran her tongue over her chapped lips. “If they wanted information from me, they could have gotten it the first time. Maybe it doesn’t work as simply as we think. But if I were this somniari, I wouldn’t risk it again. Mihris failed and I’m all the more vigilant. Besides, I’ve a sneaking suspicion they really didn’t expect Mihris to gain anything from me. She was always a fool, Celene.”

“If that’s true, then this somniari may have been testing  _you_ , which is all the more discomfiting.”

Celene rose to pace, her hands clasping behind her back. Briala watched her graceful movements, the sway of her gown, and tried not to be lulled into sleep. Celene sighed after a moment and stopped pacing. She shook her head and lowered it to the floor before speaking.

“Can you be trusted, Marquise?” she murmured, lifting her head to meet Briala’s eyes. “Can I send you back to the Dales and trust that this mage won’t get whatever he desires from you, be it the passphrase or…something else? Can you still perform the functions required of your title? I promised you I would not see the elves punished for what comes between us, but you  _must_  let me know if you cannot do this. The Empire is suffering enough without the threat of more betrayal in our borders.”

Briala looked down at her sheets. “The elves would rebel if you disposed of me, Celene.”

“I know that. But I would rather suffer another  _mien’harel_  of scattered, angry elves than battle an army with you at its head.”

Briala was surprised Celene had remembered the word for the reminder the humans sometimes needed of the threat the elves could be. Then she remembered that Celene had also remembered  _vallaslin_ , and perhaps a great many things Briala had told her that she thought the Empress brushed off. Celene sat as tall as ever, still blank behind her mask, but Briala had heard the touch of fear in her voice when she mentioned Briala rising against her. Briala knew that she had the capability to do it. The force of the elves of Orlais coupled with the Eluvians stood an actual chance of victory. Especially now that Celene and the Empire were so weakened by the events of the breach. Celene knew of her intellect, her tactical mind, and respected it enough to know when to be wary, just as she had not done with Gaspard.

But Briala had no plans for an uprising. Not so long as Celene kept her in her position and continued to support the elves. There was too much blood on her hands already. And even then the thought of outright attacking Celene, removing her head from her throne and possibly her shoulders, made the stew in her stomach turn.

“You can trust me, Celene. As Marquise,” she added when she saw Celene’s shoulders tense. “You seem to have learned your lesson from your own, personal  _mien’harel_. I would not see you punished further, provided you continue to support the elves. Before, during, and after this hole in the sky.”

Celene was silent for a moment, then she gave a slow nod. “I will do what I can.”

“As will I. The people from the Dales are your allies. I will prove that to you in the coming times.” She sighed as she gazed upon Celene’s rigid posture, overly tight to keep herself from falling apart. Her gut may have been deliriously hungry, but it was not wrong. “We may not ever be what we once were,” she said softly, “but we don’t have to be enemies.”

Celene met her eyes and held her gaze. Then she stood and dipped her head towards Briala. “We are leaving for Val Royeaux soon. You will stay here under Seryl’s care and make for the Dales once you’ve healed. There are rumors amongst the Inquisition that Corypheus desires something in the Arbor Wilds. If this proves true, Orlesian forces will unite with the Inquisition there once the time has come. You must get your people and your land prepared. I’ll send you reports as I receive them. No doubt Lady Montilyet will as well.”

“I understand, your radiance.”

Celene nodded once and made her way out the door. She closed it softly behind her and headed down the stairs towards the garden where Seryl, Adele, and Jenara were waiting. They were the only ones she trusted, and Celene had felt ill at ease ever since Briala’s disappearance. Whatever intentions this informant had, they were a threat to her, a threat to the Empire, and she had to see it extinguished. Seryl stood in the garden talking to Adele with Jenara standing off to the side, eyes ever downcast. Prudence was by Jenara’s side, sleeping soundly on her back in a patch of flowers with her leg twitching in the air. They all bowed as she neared and waited for the Empress to begin.

Celene told them what she thought was necessary and gauged their reactions. Seryl’s eyes darkened at the mentioning of this informant, and they slowly moved around her estate, calculating. Adele straightened her already rigid posture, her legs widening just a bit as if bracing herself for an attack. Jenara, as always, trembled and kept her down, though Celene was certain she was formulating ideas of her own.

“Well, it’s obvious that this informant is the biggest threat to you,” Seryl began, her chalky voice stilling the air around them. “If they can sneak in and around both your place and mind undetected, what’s to stop them from sneaking into your bedchambers with a blade, hmm?”

“We don’t know if it’s me they’re after,” Celene began calmly, watching Adele’s jaw tighten from her peripheral. “But I agree, it is concerning.”

“Concerning? Majesty, this informant is a traitor unto you, unto the Empire. Even if they just wanted Briala, they now have  _you_. Elves or no, no one would drop the opportunity to live amongst your court with all of its secrets and power. I would see them dead the moment I saw them,” Seryl answered with an assured nod of her head.

“I agree, your majesty,” Adele answered. Her temper flared, cheeks burning beneath her mask. She had not protected the Empress at the theater, had barely done anything at all with Mihris other than land the final blow, and now there was another threat to Celene’s life. She would not let this one go. Her duty and pride demanded justice. “This informant must be sought out and quickly dealt with.”

Celene sighed and Jenara lifted her head, meeting the Empress’ eyes. She seemed to be waiting for Celene to answer the silent question she was asking, but Celene did not know what that was. Celene knew they were right. Assassins, deception, and betrayal lurked in every other corner of the palace and she could see them all coming from miles away. But not this informant. She wanted to entertain the idea that she did not see this informant because they were no threat to her, but she could not justify such a luxury. And despite her vacillating feelings towards the Marquise, a part of her was furious that this informant had threatened Briala’s life and desired revenge.

“Very well,” Celene said after a moment. “The informant is a threat to me and thereby the Empire. We must find them immediately. I want—

“M-majesty?”

Celene paused, eyes falling on Jenara who trembled beneath them. The elf pursed her lips, tears falling down her cheeks.

“It was me.”

Celene barely had time to register the words before Seryl struck out, her elbow colliding with Jenara’s back. Jenara let out a cry of pain and fell to the ground. Prudence flipped onto her feet and growled. Jenara rose to her knees and dipped her head, removing her mask before placing her hands behind her back.

“I-I’m so sorry,” she murmured over and over again, head shaking in violent rhythm.

“Champion, draw your blade,” Seryl demanded.

Adele’s grip tightened on her sword. She looked down at the small, sobbing elf and felt tears pressing at her eyes. She had sworn that she would never harm…no she hadn’t. Adele thought back to that first kiss. A blissful memory now tainted. Jenara had kissed her before she could finish her promise, sparing her from having to decide between her chevalier honor and her Empress. She thought back to those many nights in the barn, Jenara’s skin warm beneath her fingers and those rare but precious smiles that seemed to be only for her.

_“In some cases, she’s not worth it. Remember that, champion.”_

Jenara lifted her head, daring to meet Adele’s eyes. This time Adele did not have to search to see the strength in those dark blue eyes. The intensity she always knew Jenara possessed. She thought she was seeing something the elf did not see in herself. But in reality she was only seeing what Jenara wanted her to see. Jenara’s ear twitched, her body shuddering with fear, but she managed to nod at the chevalier. Resignation. Understanding. It all became clear to Adele and she ignored the blurring in her eyes as she pulled out her blade and lifted it over her head. For the Empress. For the Empire.

Celene found for the first time in years that she could not collect her thoughts. Briala’s betrayal coupled with her torture and the somniari were still running rampant through her mind. She had deluded herself into thinking she was safe with these precious few people. She thought Briala would never betray their love, she thought Michel her champion would win her the Empire, she thought Jenara could someday be considered a friend. All of these things she once held true shattered before her time and time again. She remembered Jenara’s hand upon her own as she cried, the look they had shared in the bathroom. All of it, lies. She had exposed herself to treason again. Celene clenched her jaw and looked up just in time to see Adele bring down her blade.

It happened in a matter of moments, but Celene still saw it. Prudence, teeth bared, growling low, was facing away from Jenara, her eyes trained on Lady Seryl, who had attacked her. Celene saw the glint of the blade in her peripheral, heard the sound of the sword slashing through the air, and made a decision.

“Stop.”

It was the voice of the Empress. And it did not have to be loud to be heard.

Adele’s body heaved forward as she tried to stop herself, sword falling from her hands and onto Jenara’s back as she stepped over the elf to regain her balance. The elf winced at the sword, but was unharmed. Celene watched as Adele picked up her sword, holding it tightly in her hand as she awaited the Empress’ orders.

“Restrain her and put her somewhere. I want to speak with her.”

Adele nodded, shoulders relaxing, and Celene tried to ignore the gentility at which she lifted Jenara to her feet. Jenara kept her head down, head still shaking as Adele took her arm and escorted her into the estate. When they were gone, Prudence stopped growling and turned her back to Lady Seryl and tilted her head at Celene.

“Unwise, Majesty,” Seryl said coolly.

“My decision,” Celene answered, extending her hand to Prudence, who trotted over and placed her head beneath it.

“A damn stupid one if you ask me.”

Celene stepped forward, surprising Seryl as she got up into her face. She smirked at Seryl’s widened eyes, enjoying the intimidation that crept into them. “ _I_  am the Empress,” she reiterated, her voice low at their closeness. “And I don’t give a damn what you think. Your loyalty is endearing, Seryl, but not irreplaceable.”

Lady Seryl could count the number of times she’d been well and truly frightened. Once, when she was a child and her father told her a story of spirits. Once when she was a young woman and had narrowly survived an assassination attempt. Once when she thought Celene to be dead at Halamshiral. Once when she saw the breach open up upon her sky. And once when she placed the poison to Llowen’s trembling lips and cooed him gently to sleep.

And now she could add another time. This moment, with the Empress of Orlais in her face, smiling and beautiful behind her mask, Seryl felt a shiver of dread roll down her spine. And she  _loved it_. She knew Celene had it in her but she had never seen the ferocity herself. Anora carried it with her like a shield, the threat of death at her displeasure. Celene preferred to let hers lie in wait and strike from the shadows when necessary. This was the Empress she supported, the Empress she would continue to support, and Seryl smiled as she dipped her head.

“I apologize, your majesty. I have overstepped.”

Celene’s smile turned from insidious to pleased, and she placed the hand that pet Prudence to Seryl’s cheek.

“All is forgiven.”

Seryl accepted the humbling the gesture with a chuckle, because she had to, and because it was deliciously amusing. She bowed deeply to Celene and the Empress nodded approvingly before making her way into the estate, Prudence following dutifully at her side. 


	23. Chapter 23

Celene was born into nobility, born into a life of wealth, privilege, and education. She thrived on a wet nurse’s breast, not her mother’s own, and moved on from there to fine meats and elegant desserts and, of course, spiced tea. She wanted for nothing, casting aside fine gifts as easily as the paper they were wrapped in. Her pale skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes gained her recognition at an early age, and she soon learned that a well-placed smile or elegant laugh could get even more. She had experienced frustration, annoyances, and minor frights in her lavish upbringing. But she had never truly known dread until her mother introduced her to the Dowager when she was ten.

Lady Mantillon stood with a sneer, leering over Celene’s curtsied form and daring her to tremble. Celene looked to the corner where she hoped to find comfort in her handmaiden, Briala, only to find it empty. She had insulted Briala’s lovely curls this morning, when her own refused to coil just right, and sent her away. Regret crept into her stomach as Lady Mantillon looked her over. Her mother stood just behind Celene, watching with uninterested eyes, as she always did when guests visited. Lady Mantillon huffed and ordered Celene to stand. Celene obeyed, keeping her back straight and neck high as she’d always been taught. The dowager circled her slowly, and Celene kept her eyes on the lion of the Valmont family crest that hung over the door.

The lion disappeared behind the rich blue of Lady Mantillon’s gown, and Celene swallowed as the dowager crouched in front of her. Her eyes were dark beneath her mask, piercing and nearly as cold as the set line of her mouth. Celene gave a pleasant smile as her mother taught her to do when she was afraid, and her eyes widened in surprise as Mantillon returned it.

“She’s a dear child, Clarisse,” Mantillon said to her mother in the trade tongue, her Orlesian accent so heavy that Celene struggled to translate it.

Lady Mantillon smiled and pulled a sweet from a pouch around her waist, extending it to Celene. Proper etiquette told her that she must accept the gift but her gut warned against it. Celene dared a look back at her mother but she would not meet her eyes. Turning back around, she smiled at Lady Mantillon and took the sweet with proper thanks. The dowager’s grin widened and she lifted her chin to Celene, prompting her to take a bite. Celene swallowed and undid the morsel. It was chocolate, her favorite, likely with a cream center. The dowager’s smile was easy, her eyes suddenly kind, and Celene felt herself relax as she placed the chocolate in her mouth.

The bitter taste on her tongue instinctively told her she’d made the wrong decision. Celene felt her throat closing, and Mantillon smiled before she brought her hand up and slapped Celene across the face. The chocolate flew from her mouth, and Celene fell to the floor, embarrassed despite the burning in her throat, the lack of air coming into her lungs.

“But she’s still a child, it seems,” Mantillon said. “We will have to remedy that immediately.”

The hem of her dress appeared before her eyes, and Celene tried to scramble back. She backed away, bumping into her mother’s feet. Celene looked up, tears in her eyes, and clawed at her throat with one hand while tugging on her mother’s gown with the other.  Her mother stared straight ahead, following Lady Mantillon as she crossed the room to Celene.

“Relax, child. You have time, yet,” Mantillon murmured in a calm voice.

Celene felt her hand on her cheek and trembled, refusing to meet the dowager’s eyes.

“Think of the effort you’re putting into this fuss when you should be concerned with stopping the poison.”

Celene opened her eyes and gasped. Lady Mantillon was right. She could still breathe. And while she could still draw breath, she needed an antidote. She met Mantillon’s eyes for just a moment before her eyes scanned the room. Her thoughts were fuzzy, but she forced them back to the book her mother had told her to study just the night before. It was about plants, those native to Orlais, and their uses. Saliva pooled in her mouth, her breaths becoming ragged as her lungs refused to fill, but she fought to ignore it and remember.

Then she saw the embrium plants by the window. Celene used her mother’s skirt to lift herself up and raced over to the plant on shaking legs. She grabbed handful of them and pressed them to her nose, inhaling as deeply as she could allow. It wasn’t much, but the next breath she took was bigger, and the next, until a lingering burn in her lungs and throat were all that remained. Celene dropped the flowers, steadying her breathing and wiping her eyes. Behind her, Lady Mantillon chuckled.

“She’s clever. Strong, too. Yes, I think she will take nicely to training. Maybe as well as you did, Clarisse, hmm?”

Celene turned as her mother flinched, the first time Celene had ever seen her do so. Lady Mantillon beckoned her back over and Celene obeyed, this time alert to everything around her. She stood in front of the dowager and fought to keep the cough in her throat at bay. Her legs were still shaking, and she locked her knees to keep her posture straight. Mantillon crouched before her again and wiped the tears from Celene’s cheeks with a gentle hand.

“Tell me, Celene, what was your mistake?”

“Accepting your sweet.”

“Wrong.”

The word came out calmly but still sent a shiver up Celene’s spine. It was a warning. She didn’t know what would come from another wrong answer, but she didn’t want to find out.

“Eating the sweet.”

Mantillon smiled. “Good girl. Taking the sweet from me told me you were not afraid. But ingesting it at my bidding told me that you were a fool. Let us not make the same mistake twice.”

“Yes, Lady Mantillon.”

Mantillon placed another gentle hand to her cheek and stood, dipping her head to Celene’s mother. “I will return every other day for her training. With time, she will be suitable.”

Her mother nodded and moved for the first time to show Lady Mantillon out. When she returned, Celene saw her face break out into a familiar smile and she neared her daughter, arms outstretched.

“My darling, you did splendidly,” her mother cooed into Celene’s ear.

Celene pushed her away, eyes wide in disbelief. “You allowed her to poison me!”

Her mother’s eyes darkened, not unlike they did when Celene was about to be punished. “No, my darling.  _You_  allowed yourself to be poisoned.”

Tears lined Celene’s eyes. Her throat hurt and her body was tired from her exertion. Her thoughts were still fuzzy and she hated the feel of the mask against her face.

“I hate Lady Mantillon,” she said, crossing her arms defiantly.

Her mother shrugged. “Hate her if you must. But she will keep you alive, Celene.”

At Celene’s silence, her mother continued. “You’ve had the luxury of ignorance for ten years, but now it is time to grow up. The lion grows weak… and the vultures are circling.”  

Celene swallowed, eyes drifting up again to the crest above the door. The lion did not seem weak to her, and she had never seen a vulture, but she suspected that it looked a lot like Lady Mantillon. Her mother gave a wave of her hand and Celene automatically took her leave. She traveled down the familiar hallway to her room with a hand on the wall. She had never been afraid of the dark, but now something seemed to lurk in every shadow. She imagined assassins behind every door, and poison in her goblet at dinner. Tears lined her eyes and she broke etiquette to run down the hall to her room. She pulled herself inside and closed the door, thankful for the bright light her windows and fireplace provided.

“Mistress?” a quiet voice asked from the corner.

Celene looked to find Briala waiting for her, as she was always supposed to do. Briala was just two years younger than her but her spindly elven frame made her seem even smaller. Her dark curls, the ones Celene had insulted this morning, had been pulled back into a tight braid. The elf kept her head bowed, but Celene could see she was still hurt from her words.

Celene stepped over, ignoring the way Briala flinched as she neared. She placed her hand under Briala’s chin and lifted her head until their eyes met. Briala’s eyes were brave, almost defiant, and Celene knew she was bracing herself for more verbal blows. Celene gave a sad smile and reached behind Briala’s head to undo the braid, running her fingers through the curls to loosen them.

“I lied,” Celene said with a sure nod. “I lied this morning about your hair. Because I’m jealous of it. It’s beautiful, and mine is not.”

Briala frowned beneath her cheap servant’s mask. She saw the tears in Celene’s eyes, the splotches on her neck that were indicative of crying. She felt her fingers trembling even as they tried to bury themselves within her hair. “M-mistress?”

Celene reached forward and pulled Briala into a hug. The elf tensed in her grasp and Celene held her tighter. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into Briala’s shoulder. “Please…forgive me.”

A few moments later, Celene felt Briala’s arms around her back, holding her tightly.

Two years later, Celene sat confident in her chair in Lady Mantillon’s study. It was just the two of them, the only light coming from the crackling fire. A cup of tea sat next to Celene, steaming, and she smiled pleasantly at Lady Mantillon. The dowager returned it, holding her own cup from the same pot in her lap.

“The Lord Chamberlain seems to believe his son is smitten with you, princess,” she said before bringing the tea to her lips.

Celene took her own cup and dared a small sip. It was clean. “Pascal certainly is a presumptuous young man.”

“Is he?” Mantillon asked with a raised brow. “Was it presumption that led to one of his servants overhearing your chatter and spreading the rumor among the kitchens?”

Celene swallowed. Her heart hammered in her chest and she placed her teacup back on the table to keep it from shaking in her hands. “Who can trust the word of a servant?” she asked innocently, giving the same smile she gave to so many young noble boys.

“It matters not that it is trusted, only that it is said. Your clumsiness has left quite a mess that must be remedied.”

Celene kept silent, knowing that words were futile at this point. She kept her head held high and tried to look brave in front of the dowager. Mantillon took another sip of tea, then another before setting her own teacup down.

“It may as well be a knife in the back.”

Celene exhaled slowly, her body trembling against her will. She had only made a few mistakes in her training with Lady Mantillon, but she remembered them all well. And she was likely not to forget this one, either.

“Stand, princess,” Mantillon ordered.

Celene obeyed, rising from her chair. Mantillon stood and brandished a dagger. She toyed with the edge of the blade and Celene reached behind her to undo the buttons of her gown. When it hung loosely on her shoulders, Mantillon stepped forward and loosened her corset. Celene felt the corset lifting, exposing her back. There was a breath of a pause, and Celene felt the blade pierce her skin. It was deep enough to make her blood run cold, but not enough to cause any serious injury. Celene grit her teeth, tears pressing at her eyes as Mantillon pulled the corset back down and tightened it. She buttoned Celene’s gown back up and turned her around, squeezing her shoulders.

“The Lord Chamberlain and his son are in the next room,” she said coldly. “I expect you to go in there and fix the mess you made. And I suggest you do it before you bleed through your gown.”

Celene nodded, because she could do nothing else, and allowed the dowager to escort her into the room.

At fourteen, Celene dazzled the crowd in her gleaming gown. Her hair was braided up and interwoven with ribbons, which fell down her bun and danced along her back. She was beautiful, and the ballroom of young nobles took notice. The young nobles who were lucky enough to be under Lady Mantillon’s eye had all assembled at her estate for the ball. Celene caught young boys’ eyes as she chatted with the other girls, everyone keeping their topics as light as the music that trilled through the air.

These girls were no threat, Celene knew. She was better than all of them at the Game and could cut them down now if she so wished. Her cousin, Gaspard, was in the corner of the room, talking and laughing with a few other boys, and he smiled as he caught Celene’s eye. He was next in line for Emperor, and one of the few adults at the party. No doubt he was here to weed out any of Mantillon's competition in hopes of giving himself an upper hand. But the fact that he did not seem interested in her in the slightest made her smile all the easier to return, and she listened to his robust laugh as it filled the room. Lady Mantillon made her way about the guests, as any good hostess would do, and Celene watched the shifts in the crowd as she drew near. Voices quieted and backs straightened. Smiles were far too forced beneath their masks. Celene kept her laugh to herself. The fools were failing right in front of her. She would not fail. Not tonight.

Lady Mantillon neared her group and Celene knew her smile was easy, her curtsy full of grace as she greeted the dowager. Mantillon’s eyes met hers and Celene could see the approval in her eyes, but kept the pride from her expression.

“You look lovely tonight, Celene,” Mantillon commented.

“Thank you, Lady Mantillon,” Celene answered easily. “Though I’m certain I pale in comparison to you.”

Mantillon chuckled and extended her hand. The girls around Celene tensed ever so slightly and Celene knew she had won. She took the dowager’s hand and walked with her, listening as Mantillon spoke to her privately.

“The Comte de Brevin’s son, Luc, seems to have left the ballroom in search of more entertaining delights,” Mantillon said. “I believe he’s in the trophy room. Perhaps you could persuade him to come back to the ball.”

Celene smiled. The Comte de Brevin was suffering from and illness and would soon pass, leaving his young son to take over. If Celene could win him over early, it would be all the easier for the future. Mantillon was giving another test and she was certain not to fail this one.

“It would be my pleasure, Lady Mantillon.”

The dowager squeezed her hand and let her go and Celene left the ballroom without anyone the wiser. She walked down the hall easily. The trophy room was just past the smoking room. As Celene entered the smoking room, she saw that a window on the right was open, curtain billowing slightly in the breeze. She closed the door easily behind her and began to walk through, senses alert.

She didn’t know where exactly he came from, but someone stepped behind her. Celene turned and deflected an incoming dagger with her forearm. Her first instinct was to scream, but she suppressed it. If Luc truly was in the next room, he must not be disturbed. Coming to Celene’s aid would put her at his bidding, not the other way around, and she would not tolerate failure. Her assassin was small, a woman or an elf judging by their slim figure, and just as silent.

Celene dodged another strike, relying on her training, and grabbed the hand that held the dagger. She jerked on the assassin’s thumb and pulled the blade free. She could have ended it right here, sliced their neck and walked away with her life. But she couldn’t have the blood on the carpet, or risk getting any on her dress. So she began to attack, sending the assassin trailing backwards towards the open window they had likely crept in through. A two story fall might not kill them, and so when their legs touched the windowsill, Celene stepped to the side and brought the blade forward. She jammed the dagger up and between the ribs like Mantillon had taught her, and used the force to send the assassin back over the window, knowing they would be dead before they hit the ground.

She listened for the thud and swallowed as she heard it. Finally save, her adrenaline spent, Celene placed a hand to her chest, the other against the wall, and began to gasp. Her heart hammered in her chest and sweat collected on her brow. She had just killed her first person. Her thoughts raced, wondering if it was a woman or elf, if they had a family, a lover. She wondered if they felt pain as they fell, and if she would be accepted by the Maker after this. She wanted to cry, to scream, to fling herself out the window after them. But Luc was waiting in the next room. And Lady Mantillon waited in the ballroom.

Celene collected herself quickly, evening her breathing and checking her gown over for any cuts or blood. Then, because Luc was also trained by Mantillon, she closed the window to avoid suspicion. When she was certain she looked fine, she opened the door to the reading room, smiling as she saw Luc admiring one of the many swords that lined the wall.

“Luc,” she cooed, adding a bit of a sway to her hips as she neared.

The boy turned and Celene smiled as she watched his eyes follow her hips.

“Celene,” he greeted, taking her hand and kissing it.

His lips lingered on her skin. It did not feel like what the stories said it should. It felt like nothing at all and Celene was grateful. She could use the lack of emotion right now. Luc was a daring boy, and took advantage of their privacy, his lips traveling up Celene’s arm. Her skin tingled at the contact, but her heart did not flutter. She gazed upon his boyish face, the stubble that lined his chin. He was attractive. Of this she knew, and she wondered just how much the stories lied about love. She allowed him to kiss up her arm and pushed him away when he reached her shoulder.

“The ball was not entertaining enough for you, I take it?” she asked innocently, smiling widely at him.

“I prefer tourneys,” he said, his eyes taking in the pale skin of her exposed chest. “But…I could be swayed to return for the right price.”

Boys were so easy. She’d take them over assassins any day and she gave a soft, shy giggle. “I take it the price lies upon my shoulder.”

Luc stepped forward and Celene’s heart gave a quick jump of fear. Boys were easy, but also persistent. If she wasn’t careful, he could strike, and she could not immobilize him like she could an assassin. She stepped back with a teasing shake of her head.

“Dance with me first, Luc. We must see if you’re worthy of your prize, after all,” she said, extending her hand.

Luc paused, then smiled, taking it like a gentleman and leading her out of the trophy room. When they passed back through the smoking room, it looked immaculate but Celene still distracted him by rubbing her hand up and down his arm until they reached the hall. Lady Mantillon smiled as they entered the ballroom and instructed the bard to play something slow as Luc put his hand around Celene’s waist. They danced throughout the night, Celene spurred by Mantillon’s pleased expression, and by the end of the night, she had Luc around her finger and Mantillon’s approval.

“Boys are just easy,” she reiterated to Briala that night as the elf brushed out her hair.

After Celene had realized her many mistakes at ten years old, Briala had become her only real friend. She told Briala everything…except when she returned home from Lady Mantillon’s with knife wounds on her back or stomach. Then she said it was from dagger training. And Briala accepted it, even though they both didn’t believe the answer.

“How so?” Briala asked, brow furrowed as she worked out a tangle.

Celene smiled at her from the mirror. “You’ve never been with a boy?”

“I don’t know that I like boys. At least not yet.”

Celene’s smile waned, and she gave a sympathetic nod, turning in her chair to face the elf. “They’re easy because they only think about one thing: laying with you.”

Briala blushed beneath her mask and Celene nodded. “Yes, I agree. But it’s easier that way. Because I just…” she took a deep breath, expanding her chest.

Briala stared at it for a moment before she looked away, her blush intensifying. Celene had started her bleeding last year, and her body was becoming more womanly. Briala was still a child, still wiry beneath her servant gown and still more inclined to play games than entertain boys. Celene envied her youth and exhaled, dropping her chest.

“It works most of the time.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

Celene thought back to Luc who had bypassed looking entirely and went straight to touching.

“Then you allow them to do this.”

Celene took Briala’s hand and kissed the top of it. She’d done it to tease, to make Briala feel even more uncomfortable and to see just how red she could make her cheeks. But Celene felt a blush creeping onto her own face instead. And the feeling that she had read about in the romances, the feeling that she did not get from Luc or any other boy she’d entertained, filled her chest. She dropped Briala’s hand, keeping her eyes down as she turned back around in her seat. A moment later Briala’s hands returned to her hair and Celene stayed silent until she finished.

When she was sixteen, Celene returned to her estate after her visit with Lady Mantillon to find that no one greeted her as her carriage pulled up. Celene eyed the coachman who had helped her down and he lowered his head. He had waited at Mantillon’s estate for her, and likely knew as much as she did. Celene’s parents were dead, and she was alone in her estate save for the servants and Briala. Celene’s heart began to race as she made her way into her home. No one opened the door for her and she placed a hand to her wrist, where a dagger lay hidden beneath the rich material of her gown.

The house was usually quiet but tonight it was eerily so. There was no quiet padding of feet, no clamoring in the kitchen, no sounds of cleaning. Celene swallowed, feeling the knot rise in her throat. She had spoken to Lady Mantillon about her servants. She had seen Mantillon’s smile. But she had not expected the attack to carry out the same night. She had intended to come home and warn Briala…

Celene took off down the hall, her ribs aching from her corset. She’d taught Briala everything Mantillon had about being a bard. And Briala was smart. She was good at it. Possibly even better than Celene, and Celene hoped she had used it tonight.

She finally found them in the reading room. Celene gripped the side of the door, her knees going weak as she looked down at what her words had wrought. She knew they were Briala’s parents, and the reality of what she’d done caused her to sink to her knees. It seemed like the Game back at Mantillon’s estate. Mantillon was cold that night, unforgiving, and Celene’s scars burned every time she gazed into those blackened eyes. She thought only of herself in those moments. Only of the fact that if she said one wrong word, Mantillon would kill her. She was to be the Empress of Orlais, but so were many others should the dowager become displeased. Celene knew all too well the casualties of the Game, and yet she herself had fallen for it, as she always did when Mantillon was near.

She allowed a single cry to escape and saw a head of curls peer out from behind the curtain.

“M-mistress?”

The sound of Briala’s voice haunted her until this day. Even now at 36, with so many mistakes to her name, that was the sound that pulled Celene from her sleep every morning. She woke with the memory every day and accepted it as punishment, allowed it to play through her mind so that she could analyze everything she did wrong. But the pain that came with it never eased.

Celene pushed the memory from her mind as she made her way down the hall of Lady Seryl’s estate. Jenara was being held in one of the rooms, likely bound, and awaited her judgment. She thought Jenara to be like herself when she was a girl in some ways. Quiet, abused, fearful, doing whatever it took to survive. But now it seemed she knew nothing, and she was ashamed. Ashamed that she’d fallen for another kindly elven face. Ashamed that she’d trusted so easily. Ashamed that she had not seen it coming. But she could not allow her feelings to dictate her judgment.

Celene looked down at Prudence who walked by her side, head raised as if she was nobility herself. Prudence never growled at Jenara. She seemed to like her, even. And yet Prudence had growled at Briala in the bedroom, knowing her true intent before Celene did. For whatever reason, Prudence still trusted Jenara, and it was all Celene could cling to as she made her way down the hall and opened the door to Jenara’s room.

Jenara sat in a chair, wrists bound with rope and resting on the table in front of her. She did not look up as Celene entered and the Empress noted her small feet barely touched the floor. Adele stood behind Jenara, hands behind her back, posture rigid. Celene knew all too well how the chevalier was feeling, and she only hoped she could keep her temper in check during the interrogation. Adele bowed to Celene and made to give them privacy, stopping at Celene’s raised hand.

“Stay, champion,” Celene offered quietly. “No doubt you desire an explanation as well.”

Adele hesitated, mouth open as if to protest. Then she looked down at the back of Jenara’s head and nodded, resuming her place behind her. Celene looked to Prudence, and when the dog met her eyes she pointed towards Jenara. Prudence tilted her head and made her way to the elf. Jenara stiffened as the dog pressed her nose against her side but did nothing more as Prudence sniffed her. Prudence then sat by Jenara’s side, mouth opened in a pant. She reached over to Jenara’s bound hands and rubbed against them, trying to get the elf to pet her. Celene watched as Jenara’s fingers tightened, unsure of what to do, and called the dog down.

Prudence obeyed, standing by Adele and Celene made her way to the chair that sat opposite Jenara. She sat down gently and regarded the elf. Her mask had been removed and her curly red hair was pulled back into a simple bun. She had more freckles that Briala and her lip trembled despite her clenched jaw.

“Jenara,” Celene said slowly.

Jenara lifted her head, blue eyes reddened from crying, and met the Empress’ eyes. Celene reached up and removed her own mask, setting it on the table in front of them. Jenara sniffled. She looked guilty, resigned to her fate, and Celene swallowed the sympathy that was building in her throat.

“You will tell me what happened.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“From the beginning.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Jenara sniffled once more before sitting straight up in her chair. Her eyes were defiant against Celene’s, the look the Empress knew she could see lingering underneath the fear.

“I was approached in the market by Mihris, the elf your champion killed. She recognized my crest and asked me for help. She…she said your life was in danger and that I had to get a message to the Marquise.”

Jenara pursed her lips, frowning. “I…I figured there was nothing to lose. If it turned out to be a lie, the Marquise would be to blame. If it wasn’t, then we could save your life. That was the night of the theater assassination attempt.

“When that turned out to be true I thought I could trust her. She told me the Marquise was a danger to you, and that she was trying to lure her away from you so you could be safe. She passed me letters and I passed her information on the Marquise. I…” Jenara’s voice cracked and she swallowed, tears pressing at her eyes as she tried to finish the words. “I did not know it would come to this.”

Celene kept her face calm and regarded the elf. She seemed sincere, but sincerity only went so far.

“Why not trust your Empress, Jenara?” she asked. “If I thought the Marquise to be an ally, why not take my word for it?”

“Because you do not even trust yourself around the Marquise,” Jenara said quickly, shaking her head as she continued to speak. “She lies and worms her way around your heart and manipulates it to her will. And because she has the elves you feel you must do as she says. And—

“Enough.”

Jenara flinched at Celene’s tone, closing her eyes. “I did it to protect you, your majesty,” she whispered after a moment. “But I did not intend for the Marquise to be hurt…or anyone else. She said she just wanted her away from you not…not—

“And what of the champion?” Celene asked, watching as Jenara shut her eyes tighter. “Did you seduce her to blind her to your actions?”

Jenara shook her head violently, turning back around to look Adele. Adele did not meet her eyes and stared straight ahead at the opposite wall.

“I swear on my father, on the Maker, on the Empress herself, I did not lie about that. And what I did…I did to protect you, too.”

Celene saw Adele swallow, jaw clenching. “Explain.”

Jenara turned back around to face Celene. “There were times when she…she tried to promise that she would never hurt me. I stopped her from doing that. I kept her from finding out things that would threaten her loyalty to you. I should have pushed her away entirely. I should never have…. That was wrong of me.”

Celene could relate to love in hopeless situations as well, and she sighed as she removed her gaze from the chevalier. Adele could handle her own problems. She had the answers she needed. Answers that were likely to be more honest in front of the Empress than alone.

“What do you know of Mihris or her master?”

“She said nothing of her master, your majesty. She just said that the Marquise was a danger to you and after the theater…I was inclined to believe her.”

Celene realized it was entirely possible that this elf, or her master, had somehow orchestrated the assassination attempt to gain Jenara’s trust. Or they were just in the right place at the right time. With it being so long ago, and Mihris dead and her master unknown, she would likely never find the answer she desired. Anger pulsed through her and she pushed it back. She looked down at Jenara, still trembling, and watched her ear flicker just slightly. Still so scared, yet defiant.

“You’re one of those rare few aren’t you?” Celene asked, narrowing her eyes as Jenara lifted her head. “One who is not beholden to their fear. You fight against it, for it. It terrifies you, but it does not cripple you. Courage in its purest form.”

Jenara’s ear twitched again.

“Why do this, Jenara? What about me makes your loyalty so true?”

Jenara sighed, then shrugged. “It will seem a weak answer, your majesty.”

“I’ll hear it just the same.”

“The Game has taken much from you, your majesty. Your family, your lover, your life. But you have always shown me kindness. And it was only right that kindness be showed to you in return. Kindness that did not hinder on the rules of the Game or rules of the heart.”

She shrugged again, blushing as Celene let out a laugh.

“You wished to be my friend,” Celene said with a shake of her head. “Well, I cannot say I expected that answer.”

Jenara nodded, lowering her head again. Celene eyed her for a moment, then rose from her chair.

“You will be executed at sundown for your treason,” she said finally.

Celene watched Adele stiffen from across the room but Jenara only nodded again. “Is there anything else you’d like to say?” she asked.

The elf lifted her head and gave Celene a small smile. “It was an honor to serve at the pleasure of the Empress.”

Celene smiled and Jenara lowered her head once more. She felt hands on her own and looked up to find the Empress undoing her restraints. Her hands fell free a moment later and she looked up at Celene with curious eyes.

“You were right,” Celene said as she picked up her mask. “I have few friends. It would be a shame to lose them. She’s free to go,” she said to Adele as she applied her mask. “And I expect her in my bedchambers to prepare my evening gown at sundown.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Adele answered, her shoulders falling in relief.

Celene nodded and placed her hand to Jenara’s head. For once the elf did not flinch beneath her touch and Celene smiled to herself as she made her way out the door with Prudence following. It was a risk, she knew. But Jenara was definitely worth the gamble.

Jenara rubbed at her wrists as she stared at the closed door. Adele had tied them tightly and the indentations were deep. She did not blame her. Celene had given her a second chance and she would not squander it. But Jenara didn’t know if Adele believed in second chances, or if she even deserved it from the chevalier. She turned around in her chair where Adele was still standing. The chevalier continued to look straight ahead and Jenara nodded, easing herself from the chair. She went to make for the door when a hand touched her shoulder.

Jenara turned and braced herself for whatever Adele had to say. Adele stared down at her for a moment before taking a seat in the chair. It put her at the same height as Jenara and the elf found it was hard to look into golden eyes that were so full of pain.

“I could have killed you this morning,” Adele whispered. “And you knew that. You kept me from making that promise…you…why, Jenara?”

Jenara licked her lips and shrugged. “Like I said to the Empress, I did not want your loyalty to her to be swayed.”

“But do you care nothing for your own life?” Adele asked, reaching out for Jenara’s hand. “Because it frightens me how much I care for yours.”

Adele’s hands were warm upon Jenara’s, calloused and gentle. Jenara saw tears fall down the chevalier’s cheeks and looked away with a shake of her head.

“Adele, don’t. I…I lied to you. You will never be able to trust me again. I shouldn’t have kissed…I-I am not worthy of you.”

Adele kissed her hand. “The Empress trusts you. By extension so must I. And I do. You’ve done nothing but try to protect her and me.” She gave a short laugh. “Granted, it’s not the way I would have gone about it but…your intentions were just. Not all romances end like Celene’s.”

“Adele…”

“If you wish to end this, Jenara, I will not stop you. But neither will I stop loving you.”

Jenara’s cheeks flushed, ear twitching as her hand shook in Adele’s palm. She smiled, blue eyes softening before pain flooded them again. Adele felt her pull her hand away.

“I’m not worth it,” Jenara said, shaking her head. “You’re a chevalier and I—

Taking a page from Jenara’s book, Adele reached out and pulled her into a kiss. The elf squeaked in surprise, then relaxed, lifting Adele’s mask from her face. Adele stood from the chair, lifting Jenara with her, and held her tightly. Jenara’s feet were far from the floor and she wrapped her arms around Adele’s neck, tears falling down her cheeks. 


	24. Chapter 24

Celene left the city of Jader without informing Briala. It wasn’t necessary for an empress to discuss her itinerary with her allies, and Briala knew it wasn’t meant as a slight. Still, she missed it. The bruising and swelling on her nose went down, but she still had a few more weeks on her wrist and the wraps on her shoulder needed to be changed every other day. True to her word, Seryl graced Briala with nothing but courtesy during her stay. Briala could see that Seryl still distrusted her, and the elf could not blame her. But ever loyal to Celene, Briala held no fear for her life from Seryl during her stay.

Though Briala had been well enough to go home for a few days, she lingered for Variel. The burn on his cheek was severe, and required more attention. However, in talking with the healers yesterday, they informed Briala that Variel was finally well enough to take visitors, and could tolerate the few day journey to the Dales. She waited patiently outside for the healers to finish, wincing every time she heard the elf groan in pain. Burns were not part of her normal fare, but she knew that if a burn was bad enough, the skin had to be cut away, and the thought made her teeth ache as Variel groaned again.

The healers paid her no mind as they left Variel’s room and she slipped inside quickly. The room was dark, curtains drawn, and smelled of dead flesh and poultice. Briala kept her face neutral as she eyed the figure resting on the bed. Then her eyes were drawn to the figure sitting in the chair next to it. He stood as Briala regarded him and she could not stop the smile that spread across her face.

“Dirge,” she murmured as he stepped closer.

Dirge’s white teeth shone in the darkness, his broad shoulders heaving in an embarrassed shrug. “Marquise,” he said with a bow, keeping his voice low, “it is good to see you well.”

“I didn’t know you were here,” she said, reaching out to take his hand.

Dirge shrugged again and glanced over at Variel who lay dazed upon his pillow. Fresh bandages were applied to his cheek and sweat dripped from his pale forehead. He didn’t look all that well, but it was a big improvement from how he looked in the cave.

“You were healing and he was a big baby when the pain came. Thought he needed me more than you.”

“I would have come sooner. The healers told me he couldn’t receive visitors.”

Dirge chuckled. “Yeah, they tried to say that to me, too.”

Variel gave an airy, incoherent whisper from the bed. Briala released Dirge’s hand and stepped over to his side. He smiled with the good side of his mouth and raised an eyebrow. Briala returned it, reaching gently out for the bandages. She lifted them and regarded his wound for a moment, then lowered the bandage back down, keeping her expression calm. It was healing well, albeit slowly. But the scar would be hideous, if not revolting.

“You’re too trained in the Game for your own good,” Variel said quietly. He kept his teeth together as he spoke, desiring to move his cheek as little as possible, and his words were slurred. “I can’t read a damn thing on you.”

Briala gave a quiet laugh. “That’s the point, Variel.”

“Don’t mean I have to like it.”

Briala nodded, conceding, and listened as Dirge pulled his chair up for her. She thanked him and sat down, taking Variel’s hand. It was clammy, but warm, full of life, and she reveled in the feel of it.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said quietly. “You…I never would have thought—

“All due respect, Marquise,” Dirge interrupted from her side. “But if you didn’t expect this kind of loyalty, you weren’t paying attention.”

Variel tried to shoot a glare Dirge’s way, but there was no malice behind it. Briala touched Dirge’s shoulder and sighed.

“You’re right. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Variel frowned and shook his head, wincing when his burned cheek touched the pillow. “Don’t blame yourself. It was that fool mage that did all this.”

Briala shook her head. “I’ve been a spymaster for a long time, Variel. I should have seen the signs, heeded the warnings. But I was too caught up in…so many matters. The fault is mine. I take it willingly. And I will learn from it. I spread myself too thin. I need to know when to ask for help.”

She looked over at Dirge. He was one of the first to join her rebel army. He was orphaned as a young child for reasons Briala dared not ask about, and picked up by a travelling dwarven merchant. Through her, he traveled all through Orlais and Ferelden and knew the land like the back of his hand. He was instrumental in setting up her Eluvians and trade network that ran between them. The Game had given her a lingering suspicion of his perpetual, quiet calm, but after he saved her from Mihris, Briala recognized it now as a character trait that would serve him well. And her.

“Dirge, I want to put you in charge of the Eluvian runs.”

His eyes widened, ears turning as if he hadn’t heard her. “Marquise, you—

“Have other things that need my attention. You will report to me. We will work together to plan routes and immigrations and forces, but I need someone to see to the day to day. Will you do this for me?”

He swallowed and dipped his head. “It would be an honor.”

She nodded and turned back to Variel. He smiled at his friend, oblivious to her stare. Variel had looked death in the face and told it to grab a tit. He accepted the wound on his cheek with pride and pulled her out of a dark place. All because of his loyalty.

“Variel,” she said, watching as his eyes drifted back to hers. “I need a spymaster.”

He frowned and fought to sit up in bed, shaking his head when they tried to help. Once he was upright he looked at Briala with bright, pleading eyes.

“I can still work, Marquise. Don’t need to give me no pity job just because I ain’t pretty no more.”

Briala’s mouth twitched in a smile. “Your slum talk comes out when you’re flustered, you know.”

He smiled back at her. “Once a slum, always a slum. I’m a good agent, Marquise. Please don’t take me out of the field.”

“Fool,” Dirge hissed to him. “Spymaster is an honor, not a pity.”

Briala placed a hand on Dirge’s shoulder to silence him. “He’s right,” she said to Variel. “The title of spymaster is given to only the most trusted of individuals.” She tried to ignore the pain that seeped into her chest at her words. “You proved in the cave that you would die for me, for our cause. There is no one better suited.”

When he still remained unconvinced she reached out and touched his good cheek, allowing sympathy to fill her eyes. “We both know the scar this will leave,” she said, her eyes flitting to his wound. “An unmistakable one. You cannot be an agent with so defining a mark. It’s too easy to remember.” She waited until his face fell in understanding, then continued. “But you could work with me. Coordinate the agents and relay information. You would do far reaching work, Variel, even if you couldn’t be in the field. I will not force you, but you’re the only one I want for the job.”

A blush colored Variel’s pale cheeks. He looked to Briala, then back at Dirge, and relaxed back against the pillows.

“I don’t know,” he sighed after a while. “Three hot meals a day, a roof over my head,  _and_  the Marquise’s favor? Seems like a raw deal.”

“Who am I to stop you from sleeping under the stars?” Briala asked, smiling. “Camp all around the estate for all I care, so long as you’re near enough to do your job.”

Variel chuckled and nestled back into his bed. “These human beds ain’t so bad, once you get over the feeling that they’re sucking you in.” He reached out a hand to Briala. “You’ve got yourself a spymaster.”

Briala shook it, then Dirge’s, and went straight to work. They would leave for the Dales as soon as possible, and she wanted her new allies ready for the task when they arrived.

 

* * *

 

Jenara’s boots were silent as she tiptoed along the stripped floor. Adele had surprised her with new ones upon their return to Val Royeaux. The leather was comfortable and durable and she smiled down at them, able to see clearly even in the darkened hallway. But though the boots brought her happiness, they did not bring her peace. Jenara swallowed and peered down the darkened hallway. She knew she was in between the walls. She could hear noises on both sides whether from servants or a crackling fire. When Celene first told her of this place, Jenara assumed it was an escape route of sorts should the castle ever get besieged. And it still could be. But Jenara didn’t know why she herself had to use it. Still, her Empress had commanded, and she would obey.

She made her way down the hallway, listening to the sounds she made and looking for traps. There were little things along the way that caught her eye, such as a line made of dust or a low hanging, thin string. Jenara bypassed them with ease. They were likely to tell if someone unwanted had been through. And while Jenara didn’t know who placed them, she was pleased to find them undisturbed. Finally, she could see light at the end of the tunnel. Jenara had been so focused on finding traps and tells that she’d lose her sense of direction. She tried to recount her steps, pausing to close her eyes and get a sense of her place in the castle.

“No…that can’t be right,” she whispered to herself as she looked up at the light.

Frowning, she continued down the hallway towards the light. It was a door, with light from the room it faced shining through. Jenara’s frown deepened and she reached out to touch the door, finding it was made of glass. She was reminded of the tall, built in mirror that occupied one of the walls of Celene’s bedchamber and let out a slow exhale. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of sneaking into the Empress’ bedchambers well past midnight. Celene had summoned her, expected her, but she still felt unwelcome in this hallway. Swallowing her nerves, Jenara pressed on the glass and slid it to the side.

She squinted as light flooded into her eyes. Celene’s bedchamber lay out before her, as she knew it did. Celene herself sat on the edge of her bed, facing the mirror, with Prudence by her side. Jenara noticed immediately that she was in breeches and a tailored tunic, but barefoot and still in the same loose braid Jenara had put up. Jenara could not control the confused tilt of her head. Celene lifted her chin, beckoning the elf through the door, and Jenara obeyed, closing the mirror behind her. Her ear twitched as she turned around, nervous for whatever was to come.

They hadn’t spoken much since her betrayal. Celene still made demands and inquiries and Jenara answered them as best as she could, but she knew there was still a tension between them, and she could not blame the Empress for that. Still, she did not know Celene to be needlessly cruel. If the Empress beckoned her here just to kill her and use her for some play in the Game, Jenara was willing. But it did not seem the case.

Celene rose from the bed, eyes calm as she made her way towards Jenara. She moved as well in breeches as she did in a ball gown, if not better, and Jenara tugged nervously at her father’s tunic. The Empress stopped when they were a polite level apart for conversation and Jenara felt herself trembling under her gaze.

“I thought we talked about the ear,” Celene commented, and only then did Jenara notice it was twitching.

She brought a hand up to it to hide its fidgeting and dipped her head, curtsying to the Empress as was customary. Celene crouched to find Jenara’s eyes and gestured for the elf to lift her head. Jenara obeyed and saw that Celene was smiling. But despite the smile, there was something gravely serious behind her eyes. Celene reached out and traced the engraved wooden frame of the mirror.

“Only one other person knows of this entrance,” Celene said.

Jenara knew immediately that it was Briala. She should have known. How else could they have carried on without anyone the wiser? It was Briala who set those tells in the passageway, and Jenara felt a small swell of pride at having been able to bypass them.

“It is unknown, direct access to me,” Celene continued. Her eyes fell on Jenara’s then. “And you now know of it.”

Jenara nodded and Celene straightened, taking the posture of the Empress. It was evident in her tone when she spoke next.

“I need a spymaster, Jenara,” she said, placing her arms behind her back. “Someone I trust implicitly. Someone who has my best interests at heart. Someone who will do what I ask without a second thought…” she paused, a smile tempting the corner of her mouth, “but also someone who’s not afraid to tell me when I’m wrong. It is a difficult job, taxing, and you will no doubt be asked to kill for me. Will you accept?”

Jenara felt another tremble course through her. Briala was Celene’s old spymaster. She had never been told such, but she knew that Celene’s spy network had slowed upon the elf’s departure, and was not quite as formidable as it once was. With this secret passageway, Briala and Celene could discuss matters privately and have them carried out by morning. When Briala left it was only natural that the network would collapse. Celene had worked hard to build it back up, but she still needed someone at its head.

Still, she had never murdered anyone before. Had never truly considered it. She thought back to those long, dark nights in the alienage. She thought of drunken humans and cruel chevaliers and her father’s hushed words as he healed her wounds. She thought of the Marquise, bloodied, starved, and bruised by her own hand. She thought of elven children laughing and the way Adele moved her sword. She thought of Celene and the way the Empress pushed her to safety at the theater.

“There is no punishment for rejecting it,” Celene said when she felt Jenara was taking too long.

The elf looked up and Celene hid her smile when she saw the defiant gleam in Jenara’s eyes.

“It would be an honor, your majesty.”

Celene then allowed herself to smile. She was almost certain that Jenara would accept, but it was still a relief to hear it, to be done with this liminality of spymasters and friends. Prudence walked up to Jenara and nuzzled under hand, another good sign. Jenara tapped her head awkwardly, still fearful of the dog, and Celene shooed her away before making her way to her bureau. She shifted around inside for a moment, then removed a parcel wrapped in cloth. Jenara’s eyes widened as Celene took the parcel to her bed and unwrapped it. Jenara could see the metal gleaming even from her position against the wall, and she swallowed as Celene turned and made her way back over, a dagger in each hand.

Jenara remembered the theater well. Though she had cowered in fear, she had not missed the way Celene moved with the blades, as if her gown were made of air. The daggers looked like an extension of Celene’s hands, so comfortably she held them, and Jenara shivered again. The Empress tried to give her a relaxing smile as she neared. She flipped one dagger easily in her hand and caught it gently by the blade, extending the handle to Jenara.

“You have skill in the Game,” Celene said when the elf hesitated. “But you need more than that to be a spymaster. You need to learn to protect yourself, protect me, kill, if necessary. And your training begins now.”

“M-majesty, surely there is someone else who—

“No,” Celene answered calmly. “Your strength is in your anonymity. To everyone outside this room, you are my handmaiden and nothing more. I will teach you.”

“B-but you need sleep.”

Celene smiled, aware of the bags beneath her eyes. Slept never came easily to her, and she had resigned herself to the fact that it never would. But it was nice of Jenara to care, even if it was just an excuse to get out of fighting. “As do you. A few hours each night and we’ll both have plenty of time for rest.”

Jenara met the Empress’ eyes, then reached out with a trembling hand. The blade was heavy in her palm, her wrist dipping as she took it. She dared her thumb along the edge and exhaled in relief to find it blunted. Celene smiled at her relief, images of dagger training with Lady Mantillon running through her mind. If Celene missed a step or allowed a blunted dagger through, Mantillon made her pay for it with an actual wound. Celene had learned quickly that way, but Jenara didn’t need any more fear.

“Did you think I’d have you start out sharp?” she asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Jenara blushed and dipped her head. A moment later she felt Celene’s hand on hers, moving her fingers along the grip.

“Hold it just like a kitchen knife,” she murmured. She eyed the elf for a moment and reached out to touch Jenara’s bicep, brow furrowing as she tested the muscle. “You’ll want to build those up.” Fearing that Jenara would pass out at the sight of the Empress teaching her a push up, she added, “Perhaps my champion will know of a way.”

Jenara’s grip tightened on the blade and she looked up into the Empress’ eyes. “I-is she allowed to know?”

Celene shrugged, fixing Jenara with a hard look. “You’re the spymaster. That’s your choice.”

Jenara swallowed and lowered her head. Adele did not like having information kept from her. But neither was she stupid. And she saw too much in Jenara already. Finally, the elf heaved a sigh and looked back up at Celene.

“She will figure it out on her own. And when she does she’ll assume you swore me to secrecy. She cannot blame her empress as much as she can blame me. We won’t have to speak of it.”

Celene nodded and allowed the pride she felt to seep into her eyes. “As you say.”

Jenara blushed and suddenly the dagger in her hand didn’t feel quite as heavy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since there have been a few questions on it, I'd just like to say that you guys will know when this story is over, as I will likely be thanking you all profusely for reading and telling you that it's over. As it stands, Celene and Briala still have a ways to go and there is more to come :)


	25. Chapter 25

“’Benighted abuse of pedagogy,’” Briala read aloud before chuckling to herself. A study came out just before winter that declared elves to be more animal than human, among a number of insulting deeds. Now that spring was finally in sight, an anonymous response to the study was sent to the University of Orlais, which published the study, and proceeded to make a mockery of it. The response quickly became more popular than the study, and as far as Briala knew, the scholar’s current whereabouts were unknown. She’d finally gotten her hands on a copy of the rebuttal, having to wait for someone to transcribe it in Val Royeaux and send it to her estate in the Dales.

Inquiries had been made by a few interested parties to try and find the anonymous scholar who had shattered so many hard worked theories on the elves, but so far they proved fruitless. And Briala knew they would continue to do so. Because she knew exactly who wrote this rebuttal and it caused her to chuckle again.

“Might as well have signed your name, Celene,” she said to herself, setting the letter on her desk and giving it an affectionate tap.

It was the first warm day of winter, and though the sky was cloudy, the sun still managed to peak through here and there. Light streamed in through the open window of her office, the curtains billowing just slightly in the breeze. She could hear commotion all through the manor, but had since learned to ignore it. When she moved into the estate designated for the Marquise of the Dales, Briala had spent a good three days learning the ins and outs of every room. She discovered a few secret passageways and look-throughs, standard for any Orlesian homes, and marveled at just how many rooms it contained. Naturally, the palace was larger, and she’d visited several estates. But Briala had no need for such luxury, and all the empty space left her feeling somewhat vulnerable. So she did the most logical thing: she filled the rooms.

The Marquise opened her home to the many elves of her land and chose based on need. Families need not pay rent so long as they contributed to the keep up of the estate. Briala now had more cooks, gardeners, painters, and craftsmen than she knew what to do with. But her people worked hard and though they still revered her, they had also started seeing her as just a person again. And for that she was grateful.

Variel stood in the doorway to her office, watching the Marquise’s eyes dart back and forth across the parchment. She seemed oblivious to the small elven child who had wandered into her office—as they often did—and paid him no mind as he ran around her desk with a clumsily folded paper dragon. Children liked Briala’s office. They liked the rows and rows of books along the wall, the giant, gleaming Eluvian that stood in the corner, the light that filtered through. Most of all, they liked the Marquise. Variel smiled as the boy roared, swooping his dragon up and down as he flew it around Briala’s desk. He had a sneaking suspicion that Briala had been the one to make the dragon for him, and his eyes looked to her every time he passed, hoping to gain her favor again with a kind word or a smile.

“Your Empress has a way with words,” he said finally, taking a step inside.

Briala lifted her head and gave a small smile to the man in the doorway. His cheek finally healed, but the scar remained. A twisted, gnarled mass that clung to the fair skin beneath his eyes, tugged at his nose, and pulled his lip down just slightly. It reminded Briala of a withered old tree, and even bore a similar color. She knew it bothered him. It was obvious in the way he dipped his head, always trying to hide the burn in his shoulder or the shadow of his cloak. Newly arriving children, and even adults, tended to stare and Briala hated to admit that she could not blame them. She herself had a new patch of discolored skin on her shoulder from Mihris’ ice burn, but it was a wayward tan compared to Variel’s. Still, his eyes were ever bright, his smile ever kind, and his work as a spymaster was top rate.

 “She’s your Empress, too, Variel,” Briala corrected.

Variel sighed and conceded with a nod. In the few months since Jader, Celene had done wonders for the Empire. Briala knew that she would. The Empress always fared better as an underdog. She was unsinkable, and Orlais was her ship. Celene increased leniencies on immigration from neighboring countries, charging a small tax in exchange for protection from the mightiest force in Thedas. It was not much per family, but given the mass intake of refugees from Ferelden, tourists and scholars from Nevarra, and the elves that swarmed to see a human land run by an elf, Orlais was profiting nonetheless. She added to her army of chevaliers, ordered new ships built, established better trade with Ferelden, and began to stockpile for the inevitable war. Her readiness and somewhat eagerness to prepare for war pacified those who previously thought her anti-military and as far as she and Variel could tell, the price for the Empress’ head had diminished severely.

Most importantly—as far as they were concerned, anyway—was the decree Celene passed to increase education in Orlais. New schools were to be established in every major city to teach children the basics of reading, writing, math, and science. Briala wasn’t quite sure how Celene had managed, given that she no longer had firsthand correspondence with the Empress, but somehow there was enough money, and enough agreeability, to also build schools in cities large enough to have alienages. In a few years, elven children would no longer have to rely on family or neighbors to learn. Briala had heard that her attempt of starting a trend of showing status through servants had caught on. Elves were everywhere within the nobility now. Perhaps that allowed for the elven schools. No noble would be caught dead with an illiterate elf. It was a sobering thought, but despite the means, elven children were getting schools.

Briala’s stomach tightened at the thought. She fared well without Celene, too. She built up her army, trained them, and used them to lower the high crime that scattered through the Dales as a result of the breach. The Inquisitor had helped when she passed through the Emerald Graves, but even she gave most of the credit to Briala. When the red Templars and Freemen prowled the Dales, most of the nobility fled, seeking the safety of society. Now that they dispersed, the nobility still stayed away, aware of the sudden influx of elves into the land. Briala negotiated with these nobles and bought their homes, filling them with even more elves. Without fear of being robbed or abused, her people began to settle and renew their trades, be it farming, woodworking, blacksmithing, and trade was slowly beginning to flow. They were still just starting, but the outlook was good.

In the peace that filled her at Celene’s absence, Briala had plenty of time to herself to think about the events of Jader. She knew now that she was wrong to have betrayed Celene as she did. And the guilt only compounded every time she heard of Celene’s triumphs or received a letter bearing the Empress’ seal. Celene killed her parents. And Celene kept that knowledge from her for years. It was wrong of her. But, now that she was in a better place, Briala could concede that Celene had only been sixteen, and alone in front of Mantillon. If she had said no, Mantillon would have likely killed her. Briala would still have her parents and she would be happy.

Celene also burned Halamshiral. Briala had forgiven her for that in the past, and had even conceded that there was no other true way to keep Celene on the throne. Though they had acted as one for nearly twenty years, the reality of the matter was that they were two different people with different goals. It was wrong of Briala to put so much of herself in Celene, just as it was wrong of Celene to put so much of herself in Briala. The curse of being in love at such a young age, she supposed. They fell in love quickly, as the youth does, and perhaps didn’t grow as much as they should have from it. Briala would never really know the answer to all of the questions about her and Celene. But she did know one thing. Despite her Marquisate, her elves, her cause, she missed Celene.

Celene had remembered all of the little elven things Briala told her about throughout the years. She knew Briala’s favorite foods and sometimes snuck them back into her chambers after dinner. She knew when Briala had a rough training session and rubbed her muscles without prompting. She knew Briala’s favorite writers and memorized quotes to whisper in the night. She knew exactly where to touch, where to kiss, and just when to skim her teeth along the ridge of Briala’s ear. And she never kept Briala waiting.

Someone else could learn to do all those things. She had entertained the idea briefly, when a beautiful, grateful elven woman held onto her hand for just a bit too long one day. Briala recognized the look in her eyes and maybe even returned it. For the woman’s smile grew, then lingered as she stepped away, her hips swaying as she walked. Briala entertained the thought up until the woman was out of sight. Then she just smiled and shook her head. Lust and love were two very different things, after all.

A little, black haired elven boy raced around her desk for the twelfth time, breaking the Marquise from her thoughts. The flimsy paper dragon in his hand looked more like a misshapen box than anything else, but he seemed overjoyed to take it from her. His mother worked in the kitchen, and he’d been responsible for the cup of steaming tea and cookie that cooled on her desk. She smiled warmly at him and reached out as he passed, running her hand along the top of his head. He stilled and looked back up at her, eyes wide as he touched his own head.

“Maybe the dragon would like to stretch his wings outside?” Briala asked, gesturing to the window. Snow was still on the ground, but it was melting, hints of green teasing underneath.

His eyes widened. “He can burn the snow away with his fire breath!”

“That he could. But take your jacket. And tell your mother where you’re going.”

The boy lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Briala. She leaned back from the force, but had gotten used to the children hugging her. She didn’t know what it was that made them flock to her so, but they were starting to get worse than their parents. Luckily, she was used to working under distractions and she petted the child once on the head before sending him out the door. Having seen Variel many times before, the boy smiled at him as well, his eyes only darting once to the scar on his cheek. Variel ruffled his hair as he passed and stepped further inside.

With no nearby nobles to interact with, Briala rarely wore her mask anymore. It was nice, she realized, to have her full scope of vision all the time. And the air did wonders for her cheeks, smoothing the skin and darkening it to match the rest of her sun-kissed face. She dipped her head to acknowledge Variel properly and he returned it as he pulled two letters from his cloak.

“The Inquisition,” he said, holding up one before handing it to her, “and the Empress,” he finished before handing her the other. “It seems that the Inquisitor has confirmed this Corypheus is in the Arbor Wilds. Currently, she’s attending to other matters, but has sent word so that we may prepared for their arrival. Empress Celene has no doubt received the same letter and she wishes to correspond with you on her own arrival, as well as that of her chevaliers.”

Variel frowned in her peripheral and Briala looked up from the letters in her hands. “What is it?”

“We’re not exactly sure when the Inquisition is to arrive, but we all know the Wilds are a dangerous, unknown place. The Empress wishes to send her troops early so that they may get used to the land and scout ahead. Be prepared as possible, essentially.”

“That makes sense.”

“She wishes to accompany them, Marquise, the troops.” His eyes darkened and he leaned over slightly on the desk. “I ain’t exactly too keen on marching a load of chevaliers through a land inhabited with elves, first of all. But I don’t see why the Empress should be comin’, too. It raises suspicions as to her intentions.”

Briala smiled softly. Variel didn’t have to say it outright, but he was concerned that Celene was coming for her revenge on Briala. And while she supposed that could be true, it was exceedingly unlikely.

“The chevaliers will march straight south and camp along the borders of the Wilds. There are ancient forts and battlements there that I can repair and stock for their arrival, giving them no need to seek out my people. As for the Empress, well, it seems fairly obvious to me.”

“Marquise?”

“The Empress does not have an outstanding military record, Variel. She brokered peace between Ferelden, encouraged it, and discouraged Gaspard when he was general. Halamshiral was an obliteration for her side, and the civil war ended before either side could gain any ground.”

“That was your doing, Marquise,” Variel interrupted with a grin.

Briala eyed the Eluvian behind him. “Perhaps somewhat. Regardless, the Empress is seen as anti-military. And yet it’s her military that’s expected to quell the Red Templars, darkspawn, and whatever other army Corypheus has, on top of the demon himself. No doubt the court, and any who are indecisive on Celene, will be watching this battle very carefully. She has to succeed if she’s to stay rooted to the throne. It’s not surprising that she wishes to handle this personally. I wouldn’t be surprised if she led the front lines.”

Variel snorted. “Hard to imagine that big dress on a horse…or fighting with anything other than words.”

Briala suppressed a smirk. “You’d be surprised. Nevertheless, there is much to do. Have you spoken to Dirge?”

“He’s supposed to arrive by dinner, Marquise.”

“Good. We’ll coordinate with him when he arrives. Get together those elves that train the militia as well. I want them training for attack just in case any enemies seep from the Wilds.”

“Yes, Marquise.”

“What is it, Variel?”

“I can’t read you even with the damned mask off,” he laughed, rubbing his good cheek. “But you can read me like a bloody book. Or…well, maybe a burned book.”

Briala smiled. “It’s my job. What’s troubling you still?”

“I…where is the Empress going to stay? All the estates are filled to bursting with elves.”

“I’ve kept three suites available for visiting dignitaries.”

“You think she’ll mind shacking up with a bunch of elves?”

“I don’t think she has a choice.”

 

* * *

 

Jenara slipped silently through the mirror, not bothering to slide it back into place. The Empress had her back turned, writing at her desk. The elf smiled and crouched so she would not be seen in the mirror that hung over her desk. Her feet were soundless on the floor, breathing even as she dared nearer. Celene continued to write, occasionally giving hum of approval or disapproval at her words. Jenara smiled again. She had no idea. Trained by the best bards in Orlais, and Jenara could sneak right behind her. She’d failed too many times. Tonight, she would succeed. The elf reached behind her back to grasp at the silverite dagger in her belt. Celene herself had given them to her. It seemed only appropriate to use them now.

She was a hair’s breadth away from the back of Celene’s gown, close enough to smell the rose and honeysuckle that still lingered from this morning’s bath. Jenara’s heart began to race. She lifted the knife and waited. A few minutes later, Celene sighed, and dipped her head. Jenara took her chance and stood, the knife going to the Empress’ neck as her free hand pulled her head back. Celene looked at the knife to her neck in the mirror, her eyes lifting to meet Jenara’s. Then she smiled.

“Well done, Bri—Jenara,” she said calmly. “I didn’t hear you at all.”

Jenara beamed but kept the knife at her neck. “Your training has paid off, your majesty.”

Celene nodded and Jenara felt something prick her stomach. It was gentle, just enough to get her attention, and she sighed as she looked down at the dagger Celene held behind her back, pressing it to her gut. She dropped her dagger from Celene’s neck and stuck it back in her belt, ear twitching in frustration.

“I thought I had it,” she murmured as Celene snuck her dagger back under her desk and turned.

“You did. You just didn’t see it through,” the Empress answered kindly. “If my dagger had been poisoned, you’d be dead.”

Jenara nodded, her head dropping dutifully. It was a hard habit to break, like the ear twitching. However, Celene decided the nervous tick was better if it stayed. If Jenara was always twitching, nothing could be read into her actions. Celene lifted the elf’s head up, as she had to do almost every night her spymaster visited, and met her eyes.

“What was your mistake?”

“Complacency. Distraction.”

“Yes. You should have seen my hand slip under the desk, or restrained it beforehand. Your enemy will always be one step ahead of you. You must be two steps ahead of them.”

The elf nodded and Celene smiled. “You did surprise me, though. Not a sound. Very well done.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“Now, tell me of Lady Emilie.”

Jenara smiled, her posture straightening just slightly. The confidence that left her with Celene’s dagger returned and made her eyes shine in the fire.

“She entertained Lord Montfort at her estate last night, and told him that the crow flies both directions. Further investigation reveals that she’s been intercepting birds bound to and from the Inquisition.”

“How could she possibly know which birds are from the Inquisition?”

Jenara shifted from one foot to the other, careful not to insult Leliana despite her being miles away. “The spymaster has a fondness for her birds. A few of them are…noticeably rotund.”

Celene smirked. “That should be remedied.”

“Yes, your majesty. I left word with Lady Montilyet to pass on the message. But it appears that Lady Emilie is harboring information from the Inquisition in hopes of using it to get her family name cleared from the House of Repose’s list.”

“Who wants her dead?”

“A jilted lover. Marquis de Jardin. It all seems quite trivial. But trivial or no, she must be stopped.”

Celene raised an eyebrow. “How would you proceed?”

“The fear for her life is understandable. Lady Eleanor owes you a favor, and has already started helping the Marquis get over his broken heart. The contract should go away within a few days, and we’re not expecting word from the Inquisition for a week at least. Still, I’m having her estate monitored.”

“Sounds like you have it all under control,” Celene said easily. “I’ll leave it in your hands for now.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Jenara answered with a bow.

Celene didn’t know if Jenara saw her eyes flicker to her teapot or not but the elf made her way over and began to make the Empress’ tea. Celene told her to pour one for herself if she felt so inclined, but Jenara shook her head, bringing her tea over with a steady hand.

“There is one more matter,” Jenara said as Celene took her tea.

The Empress took a sip to suppress her smile. Jenara was trying to keep her at ease before telling her the news. That was why she poured the tea. Clever. Not unlike what Briala used to do. Jenara trained with Celene every night, and though she was improving in her dagger skills, she still had a long way to go. Her skills as a spymaster, however, came on much more quickly. She was already more skilled in the Game than Celene originally thought, and was able to manage her spy network with ease. Celene supposed that shouldn’t be surprising, as it was quite difficult to be angry at the small elf.

Jenara pulled a letter from her cloak and extended it to the Empress. “It arrived just tonight. I figured you wouldn’t want to wait. It’s from the Marquise.”

Celene took another sip and unfolded the letter. She read it quickly while Jenara studied her own feet and placed the letter on the desk.

“Three suites available,” she said, watching as Jenara lifted her head and nodded.

“Seems she’s filled any empty estate with migrating elves.”

Celene gave a shrug of concession. Briala had worked hard to improve the Dales, and with the Inquisition’s help it was finally turning around. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that Briala would fill any open room with elves, especially with this winter having been as rough as it was. Still, staying in an estate that was filled with elves did not exactly instill her with confidence. And though she and Briala had been professional in their correspondence these past few months, Celene couldn’t shake the possibility that the elf was planning something else. She knew it was unfounded paranoia, but the betrayal she suffered in Jader still ran a chill down her neck. Jenara’s ear twitched and Celene looked up.

“What’s on your mind?”

Jenara pursed her lips together. “The Marquise does not exactly inspire trust but…a part of me wonders if you wouldn’t be safer there, surrounded by elves, as opposed to a house of your court.”

“Explain.”

“The elves…the one’s the Marquise has taken in, they don’t care about the civil war or Halamshiral. They care about the hole in the sky, the demons, the red Templars. Whatever it is that has displaced them to her. If you were to stay there with just myself and your champion, your court could not follow. You could…well, you could—

“Are you suggesting a vacation, Jenara?” Celene asked, amused. “I’ve read about those.”

Jenara blushed, giving an embarrassed laugh. “Not a vacation, majesty. But a place where you can focus solely on your military and not the Game. The Marquise’s estate would keep the nobility away, clear your mind for the battle ahead. And your champion will be there, and myself, for protection.”

Celene still appeared unconvinced. Jenara knew that she still nursed her wounds from Jader, and Jenara still despised the Marquise for it. But even she could not deny that Briala seemed to truly be Celene’s ally. None of her reports indicated anything suspicious coming from the Dales, not matter how hard she tried to find it. And her Empress was tired. She thrived under adversity, but the three months that she spent preparing Orlais and training her spymaster resulted in even less sleep than usual. As immortal as Empress of Fire liked to appear, her flame was dwindling.

“The Marquise has been…most agreeable these past few months. I’m certain she would not let you come to harm either.”

Celene gave a small, humorless laugh. A few months ago she would have believed that. But now there was that pervasive niggling feeling. The memories of her betrayal liked to play at night, where Celene’s betrayal of Briala would play in the morning. She was never truly at peace. But then again, perhaps she didn’t deserve to be. Regardless, Jenara was right. Celene needed to focus on her military. She needed a military success. And one as grand as the fall of Corypheus was within in her grasp. She had to go to the Marquise’s estate and surround herself with elves, and Briala. In reality, was much like her day to day, exposing her neck to the wolves and daring them to bite. The only difference being Briala had already bitten, and may do so again.

“Very well. I’ll have a response in the morning. You did well tonight, Jenara.”

The Empress stood and reached out to Jenara’s bicep again. The muscle was firm beneath her touch and she nodded her approval. Jenara blushed again and bowed low before she turned and made her way out of the Empress’ bedchambers. She crept along hallways she knew were empty and blended perfectly with the shadows until she found the door she desired. Knowing she had not been seen, Jenara opened the door and stepped inside, closing it quickly behind her.

She made quick work of her boots and cloak, then her breeches and dagger. Clad in just her tunic, she stepped to the side of the bed and smiled down at her chevalier. She rarely got to see Adele without her mask during the day, and she was thankful for her enhanced sight as she traced the line of her warm cheek. Adele stirred, eyes opening slowly. She reached out blindly and found Jenara’s thigh skimming it until she found the tunic. Once that was in her grasp she tugged gently, pulling her into bed.

“How was it?” she mumbled into Jenara’s neck once the elf was firmly in her arms.

“I got to her throat,” Jenara answered. “She proceeded to gut me in the stomach.”

Adele rumbled against her back as she chuckled. Jenara felt soft lips against her neck before the chevalier spoke again.

“I’m sure you’ll get there. Making it all the way to the Empress is a feat in and of itself.” Adele sighed. She was close to falling back asleep, but Jenara’s feet were cold, and she pressed her legs against them to warm them up. It didn’t take long for her to figure out that Jenara was Celene’s new spymaster. She had expected as such long before but couldn’t confirm it until the elf came to her asking about how to improve her muscles. They never outright said it, but it didn’t need to be said, much like many things between them now.

“How many times did she call you Briala?”

“Only once. And she caught it.” Jenara licked her lips and snuggled further against Adele. “We’ll be heading for the Dales soon.”

“The Inquisition?” Adele asked, waking up.

“Yes. They’ve called upon Orlais at last.” Jenara trailed her fingers lightly up Adele’s arm, tilting her head to give the chevalier more access to her neck.

“Then we will be ready.”

Adele could feel the worry in her lover’s pulse. Concern for her Empress, for Orlais, herself, likely. But it was nothing that could be handled tonight. Jenara’s feet had warmed and Adele kissed up her neck until she reached her hear. She breathed into it slowly as she ran her nose along the ridge. Jenara turned and rolled on top of her before she even finished. 


	26. Chapter 26

The Dales was not what Orlesians would call civilized. The forests had wills of their own, and fought against any and all maintenance. Vagrants and thieves wandered the trees to avoid capture and wild animals were never far. The Arbor Wilds south of the Dales was a feared place, prompting many a myth about strange, elven creatures and protectors of the past that were not the Dalish. The Dales was also a battleground from many a war, and sore reminder to any elf of their lot in life. It was only fitting that Orlesian nobles used the Dales as their holiday destination, complaining about the foliage as they stepped on many an unmarked grave.

Most of the Orlesian estates had been abandoned since the breach, with the nobles seeking safety in the larger cities. They had been pillaged by Freeman and Red Templars and left as empty shells when the Inquisitor arrived. Though she reduced their numbers significantly and the Inquisition declared the northern Dales safe, many were hesitant to return. Briala took her chance then and bought the homes from frightened nobles at an embarrassingly low price and used them to house migrating elves during the winter.

But now it was spring. The winter chill had finally gone and left a warm breeze in its place. The snow melted and revealed rich, thick grass. While the thriving forest proved to be a task for a carriage to traverse, it at least provided a lovely view. Celene fought back a sigh as the carriage lurched over another wayward vine. She had finished reading all of the reports, but could not reply with such an unsteady ride. So for the remainder of the trip, she had nothing to do. It was odd, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. Her brain seemed to be tapping inside of her skull, warning her of something that she should be doing. Her fingers itched to write and her mouth wanted to speak. But she’d already said all she could think of to say to her champion and spy master who sat across from her. Perhaps Jenara was right, and this visit would be something like a vacation.

She looked out the window again to suppress the bitter chuckle at the back of her throat. Her soldiers had cleared the path a few days prior to her journey and she shuddered to think what the roads were like beforehand. Her chevaliers were already at the border to the Arbor Wilds, meeting with preliminary Inquisition soldiers and scouting the area and building up supplies. It was unknown at this point and time when exactly the Inquisitor was to arrive, but Celene made sure to give her soldiers plenty of time to get prepared. This breach and its Corypheus had taken far too much from her people, and she would see Orlais to victory against it.

As they neared the Marquise’s estate, more elves began to show up around the entourage. They kept their distance and for the most part showed nothing more than a passing curiosity at the massive gilded carriage that rocked easily over the rough terrain. Celene spied a small village tucked away behind the trees, a cluster of brightly painted houses with small gardens created small, winding streets. If she squinted, Celene could make out a maypole with brightly colored ribbons jutting out from over the roofs, likely from the town center. How long had it been since she danced around a maypole? Weaving in and around others to make a beautiful braid or net with the ribbons. She used to fight for the green one because she liked the way it shimmered in the sun.

Celene let the curtain drop and relaxed back into the seat of the carriage. Adele, as always, sat as straight as possible, looking quite unperturbed by the journey. Next to her, Jenara had her face buried in a sheet of parchment. Though her eyes scanned the pages furiously, Celene couldn’t help but notice the slight green shade to her usual pallor and the loll of her head. The Empress would hardly call herself squeamish, but the thought of elf sickness on her shoes did have her pulling her feet in just a bit more. In the months back in Val Royeaux, she had questioned her multiple tailors on the jackets she had seen Anora in, and after more Game playing than she cared to admit, she finally convinced them to make her a design. Then several more once she realized just how comfortable life could be without a corset and monstrous petticoat. Jackets were the peak of fashion in Val Royeaux and Celene smiled down at her own violet and gold design with a cream gown. It was the simplest thing she’d worn since the pilfered armor from the civil war, and she took a deep breath, reveling in the air that filled her lungs.

Chatter from outside indicated they were nearing their arrival. Celene fought the urge to pull the window back and glance at the crowd. She could hear them all outside, murmuring and whispering as well as laughter and calls for children to settle down. She’d scarcely seen another human on her journey and despite her calm façade, her heart began to beat faster in her chest. The last time she’d been surrounded by elves, the Dalish had threatened their lives. And city elves certainly held no more love for her. She couldn’t blame them, but neither could she blame herself for her worry. Celene gave a passing glance to her chevalier, confident and strong as she was meant to be, and took a deep breath as the carriage came to a stop.

 

* * *

 

Briala stood in one of her finest dresses with her hands clasped behind her back and surveyed the crowd that gathered around the steps of her home. They were likely all people who lived at her estate, though she wouldn’t be surprised if a few had travelled to see the Empress. Variel assured her that there was no threat to the Empress, but she couldn’t help but keep alert, eyes and ears scanning for anything out of the ordinary as she was trained to do. Families lined the gravel-lined path up to her home and watched with wide eyes as the carriage pulled by four white horses pulled up. Briala fought back a smile as she saw children standing on the trimmed shrubs that lined her home, or peering out over the fountain, threatening to fall in. They were everywhere, it seemed, and unrelenting their battle to see the famous Empress of Orlais.

Truth told, Briala was excited as well, though her face betrayed none of it. She felt guilty about what she’d done to Celene, but also proud of what she had managed to achieve so far in the Dales. She wanted Celene to see the progress that could be done by simply reaching out and taking what you desired, and ensure the Empress that she was not wrong in giving her this position. A part of her was also anxious to see how Celene fared after the long winter, and how her eyes would look when they first met. Briala swallowed the thought as Variel stepped beside her. He looked uncomfortable in his formal suit and she smiled as she saw the scratch marks on his neck from the stiff material.

“The things I do for you,” he muttered, keeping his face turned inward so his scar faced the door of the estate.

Briala placed her hand on his cheek and gently turned him to face the crowd. He winced slightly but stood tall next to her. He would always be troubled by his scar, it seemed, but that didn’t mean Briala couldn’t try to ease it every chance he got. Celene was a master of the Game, and Briala knew that she would not react to the scar on his face. She hoped it would boost his confidence. Dirge was nowhere to be found, but Briala could hardly say she was surprised. He was no fan of the Empress or formalwear and quickly made himself scarce as the proceedings began. She only hoped that he was actually working while hiding and not getting drunk in town.

The carriage door opened, and the crowd silenced as Adele stepped out. Briala began to descend the stairs, timing the steps with a learned grace that would put her in front of the Empress as she stepped down from the carriage. Eyes flitted back and forth from the Marquise to the carriage and she kept her gait easy, hoping the crowd would see that Celene was no one to be feared. Jenara stepped down next, her eyes flickering to the Marquise before she took her place beside Adele. Her ear twitched and Briala suppressed a smile. If Adele and Jenara were the only ones Celene travelled with, then it was likely that Jenara had indeed become Celene’s spymaster. However, Briala couldn’t dwell on that thought for long, because Celene appeared on the steps.

The elf suddenly found her mouth to be slightly parched as she gazed upon the Empress. She wore a jacket not unlike Queen Anora’s in Jader that clung tightly to her torso. The shoulders were padded and elegant with a raised embroidered collar and lined in gold. Her gown was not the usual, gargantuan thing that Briala expected, but instead a simple cream color that hung off of her hips and flowed around her legs. She stepped down gracefully from the carriage and stood tall and proud, her simple gown doing nothing to quell the commanding presence she possessed. Her mask was golden, simple, and brought out those blue eyes that seemed to brighten when they fell upon Briala.

Briala bowed low as Celene stood before her. “Your majesty, you honor us with your presence.”

Celene looked around at the crowd and couldn’t decide if Briala was being facetious or oblivious. The onlookers at her estate were all elven and in various styles of clothing that indicated various styles of wealth. Some had flour smeared on their cheeks or wood shavings on their shoulders. Children that lined the way were barefoot and dirty, hair dusty under the warm sun. Some looked at her with apathy, others in awe, but none looked at her with what she would call obeisance or even respect. Though she required neither of those things to be Empress, it would have made her feel just a little better about sleeping that night.

“The Dales has flourished under your guidance, Marquise Briala,” Celene said evenly. “I am pleased I am able to see it for myself.”

“How was—

Briala’s words were cut off by the sound of a barking dog. Prudence, who was made to walk with Celene’s mare in hopes of quelling her excess energy, bounded into the yard. She skidded to a stop, narrowly slamming into Celene and spraying loose gravel all over the garden. Celene swallowed her sigh. Apparently the walk had done her no good at all. Children screamed eagerly at the sight of the large war hound and Prudence puffed her chest out just a bit more as she took her seat next to Celene.

It wasn’t that the Empress regretted keeping Prudence. The dog had become a confidant of sorts during the winter, keeping belligerent nobles in check and keeping watch while Celene slept. But the dog did have horrible manners. On top that, Celene was starting to suspect that the damn thing had picked up Orlesian along the way and could now understand the insults the Empress sometimes muttered under breath when Prudence dared to lick her or shake or scratch too close to her fine gowns.

“You brought the dog,” Briala said dryly, watching as Prudence scratched furiously at her ear.

“Yes,” Celene answered, noting that Prudence seemed to pay the Marquise no mind.

Briala studied Prudence warily for just a moment before she beckoned to Variel. He stepped closer and bowed deeply, keeping his head low when he rose. She couldn’t reach out and lift his head in front of the Empress, Briala merely ignored the slight and introduced him.

“Have you met my seneschal, Variel?” she asked politely.

Celene tilted her head just slightly as she gazed upon the elf. He was the one that had been carried in with Briala, the one who kept her from death by taking Mihris’ blows instead. Celene could see the savage burn scar on his cheek and the way that Variel dipped his head to try and hide it. She had seen him once at Seryl’s estate, while he was still unconscious, and offered a prayer to the Maker for him. She was pleased to see him alive, and even more pleased that he was in Briala’s company. Loyalty such as his should not be squandered and it seemed the Marquise felt the same.

“I would have you look at me while I greet you, Variel,” she said calmly.

The elf swallowed and raised his head. Defiant eyes met Celene’s, challenging her to look at his scar and shrink away in fear. But Celene had seen far worse and was much more interested in the anger in his eyes, the challenge, and the willingness to do whatever the Marquise wished.

“The Dales would not be as promising without the Marquise, and for that Orlais owes you a debt of gratitude,” she said.

Variel’s good cheek blushed slightly and his head dipped again for a moment before he caught himself. “The…uh…I was happy to, um, help,” he mumbled, his feet shuffling in the gravel.

Celene smiled and extended her hand. She intended to shake his hand, but the confused man instead took it and kissed the top of it. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for his lack of etiquette. With such a notable scar he was likely confined to Briala’s estate, never having to worry about dealing with nobles and their games. Celene made idle chatter with the two of them for just a few more minutes to put the crowd at ease, and then Briala beckoned her inside.

Variel split off from the group as Briala personally escorted them to their chambers. Celene dismissed Jenara first, noting that the elf still hadn’t lost her sickly sheen, then Adele. They would reconvene for dinner that evening. There were no guards posted outside her chamber door as Briala opened it and bowed to let her through. But with her champion and spy master on either side of her room and Prudence, Celene hoped all would be well. At the very least, she could probably persuade a few chevaliers from the Wilds to accompany her back to the estate. But first, she had to put her trust in her ally that no harm would come to her during this visit.

Celene stepped inside and gazed slowly around at her quarters. It was a large and decadent room with an accompanying suite and fireplace. Three large windows lined the far wall and upon peering down through them, Celene noted they faced the inner garden, which looked well-kept and well loved. Children could be seen down below racing around shrubs and flicking water at each other from the fountain.

“You certainly keep a lively estate,” Celene said to Briala as she turned.

The Marquise had not closed her door, and for that Celene found herself grateful. She couldn’t deny the way her heart fluttered at seeing Briala again, but her mind had not forgotten her either, and flooded the Empress’ memories with that night of her betrayal, of Briala’s broken and anguished face that Celene had caused. Not by the means Briala hoped to imply, but it was her lack of backbone that set the elf into a frenzy, and her horrible decisions that gave Briala the anger she fueled off of. Celene trained her well, and the possibilities were endless.

“You will get used to it,” Briala answered, looking back towards the door.

She ordered this hall to be secluded and was pleased to see that her orders were being followed. Briala allowed herself to smile, removing the mask from her face. Celene was still hesitant around her, still held herself just a bit too rigidly. She watched the Empress scan her face and took another step forward.

“I don’t usually wear the mask anymore. It’s strange now…to have it on,” she half-mumbled to herself as she held the mask between her fingers.

Celene kept hers on. Briala supposed she couldn’t blame the Empress for that. But still she stepped forward, hoping somehow that Celene could see the hurt in her eyes. She could see everything else within them, infuriatingly enough.

“Celene, I—

“Marquise,” Celene said quietly with a raise of her hand. “Would you be so kind as to give me some privacy? I wish to freshen up for the evening.”

For once, nothing lingered in Celene’s voice. There was no longing, no hesitance, no love. There was just the Empress, practical and polite and nothing more. Briala felt her heart squeezing within her chest, but dipped her head in acknowledgment, and placed the mask back over her eyes.

“Of course, your majesty.”


	27. Chapter 27

General Lucas Barbeau was nothing like Celene’s traitorous cousin, and for that the Empress was grateful. He was slightly younger than Gaspard had been, early fifties with a striking white beard. Hazel eyes peered out from withered, wrinkled brows and saw much more than they let on. A large man, he stood with the tall pride of a chevalier and took extra care to polish the many medals and ranks that lined the sash over his dress uniform. In addition to the bright yellow feather in his mask, two feathers rested in his belt on either side of his hips. Where Gaspard was imposing and mighty, the General was more relaxed and confident. He didn’t need to puff out his chest or raise his voice to make himself heard. He’d earned the right to be heard a long time ago.

He rode next to the Empress on his mighty warhorse, black as night and nearly two hands taller than Celene’s own courser. Adele rode behind them on her own chestnut courser, close enough to listen to the General, should he ever deem it necessary to speak. And Prudence, as always, trotted happily by Celene, excited despite their long journey. Celene watched the glint of the black horse’s muscles in the sun before turning her eyes to the barracks. After getting settled at the Marquise’s estate, Celene made immediately for the Wilds to see about her troops. Accompanied only by her champion, they left before dawn, and reached the first outpost shortly before midday. Celene decided against her riding skirts, thinking it inappropriate to visit soldiers in a gown, and instead donned breeches and riding boots below her jacket. If the General was surprised to see Celene in such simple attire, he made no showing of it, and bowed deeply before her.

Celene was big enough to admit that Gaspard’s coup at Halamshiral was an utter failure on her part. Violence was a necessary evil in her opinion, and should not be the entertainment of young boys and men with swords. As such, the fault was hers when she found herself relying far too heavily on her champion, Michel de Chevin, to keep her alive. When she finally returned to civilization, one of her first tasks was to utilize her military advisors and finally pay attention to what they said. She learned much from the civil war, but even the Empress of Orlais was no match for a chevalier when it came to tactics. Which is why Celene made sure to keep Adele in her sights at all times. Should the General be less than forthcoming or condescending, Adele would make sure the Empress knew of it.

Lucas steered their mounts towards a hill that overlooked the camp. The sun warmed Celene’s brow and she was quick to wipe the sweat away when the General wasn’t looking. The mask rested heavily against her cheeks, slipping just a bit her nose with sweat. When they reached the top of the hill, Lucas pulled out a waterskin. He offered it to Celene and took several generous gulps when she declined. Then he wiped his brow and pointed out over the camp.

“How fares your eyesight, your majesty?” he asked politely, his voice smoother than one would expect from seeing such a haggard face.

“Well,” she answered, watching as he nodded and extended his hand towards the horizon.

“Can you make out the ruins there? The broken bridges and temples.”

“I can.”

“Forward scouts said it was empty when they traversed through, but there were signs of recent activity. Can’t see it from up here but a little farther down that way,” he adjusted his hand a bit, “is another temple. Looks heavily fortified by stone and magic. Scouts wouldn’t dare go near it. Said there were too many shadows.”

“Corypheus’ men?” Celene asked, looking down over the forest. It was lush and thick. Though the General’s soldiers looked extremely well, she couldn’t help but think back to Halamshiral, where she’d marched her soldiers all night and left them weak and vulnerable to attack. She had no doubts that the General knew how to march his soldiers better than she did, but it didn’t ebb the guilt in her chest.

“We’ve seen a few scouting red Templars and some darkspawn. But none in that area. We believe they, too, are trying to enter the place.”

“What do you plan to do?” Celene asked, removing her mask. She did not fear revealing herself in front of the General. Business was easy to mask.

He pointed again. “Well, I think we need to keep them out of that temple, and do our damndest to get the Inquisitor in it. Our camp lies southeast of the temple. The Templars are fortifying their forces southwest of the temple. I fear no attack from our camp’s southern side, but the other three will likely be ambushed. When the Inquisition arrives, I’m going to suggest we attack them from the north and try to push them south and away from the temple. There’s a mighty ravine down that way,” he pointed again, “and we could bottleneck the bastards there. That leaves the path to the temple relatively clear for the Inquisitor to make her way through.”

Adele gave a subtle nod in Celene’s peripheral.

“Very well,” Celene answered. “Does the enemy know of our position?”

“I don’t believe so, your majesty. The Inquisition’s spymaster sent false letters for them to intercept. They seem focused on the temple, and I’m keeping my men far out of sight.”

They talked for a few minutes more before making their way back down the hill. All in all, Celene was pleased with the progress her troops had made. And upon returning to the camp, the soldiers looked happy and hopeful, foretelling signs of a battle won. They bowed appropriately as she passed them, giving stoic nods with her unmasked face. When the time came for battle, she would ride with them. And she would not be made to hide in the back like a coward. She would be an Empress they would be proud to die for. Not like last time. Of that Celene swore.

After taking lunch with the General, Celene bid them well and mounted her horse again. Adele and Prudence kept pace beside her as they made their way through the forest and back to the estate. They were quiet for a few hours, riding their horses easily through the foliage. At first Celene enjoyed the silence and the mirage of a moment’s peace. But her life was not meant for peace, and she soon grew eager for anything than the hum of insects around them.

“Have you any thoughts, my champion, on the state of your fellow chevaliers?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the faint path before them.

“They are in an excellent position and in high spirits,” Adele commented. “General Barbeau is greatly respected, and his tactics are sound. Who can say if the situation will be the same once the Inquisition arrives.”

“Are you eager for a fight?” Celene asked as she snapped off a low hanging, dead branch in her way. She flung it carelessly to the side and into the trees, watching as Prudence took off after it.

Adele sighed and eased her horse over a particularly rough patch of ground. “I am eager to put an end to the madness. But your safety, as always, is my greatest concern, your majesty.”

Prudence returned from the trees, brandishing the branch that Celene had tossed. Her back end rocked vigorously as she wagged her small tail, then tilted her head to the side as she wondered just how she was going to return the stick to her master who was so very far away on a very tall horse. Prudence trotted beside Celene, branch still in her mouth, whining furiously as she gazed up at her. Celene allowed herself to sigh and snapped off another nearby branch, standing in her stirrups to launch it farther and give her a few moments more of peace.

“Say something interesting, Adele. I’m going mad at this quiet,” she said when she sat back down, eyes glared determinedly forward.

Adele chuckled to herself and began to collect sticks in her saddle to take the burden off the Empress. “One would have thought you would relish a break, your majesty.”

“I do not have such luxury. I am the Empress, and the Empire never sleeps.”

“But people do. You still are one, after all.”

Celene shook her head as Prudence returned. Adele flung another stick into the trees, much farther than her own had gone, and she suppressed a flicker of irritation. The chevalier could likely fling Celene herself just as far, if pressed. Seeing that Celene was not going to entertain this conversation, Adele switched to a more neutral topic.

“Jenara has been eyeing the bow lately.”

Though they’d never outright spoken of it, Celene knew that Adele was aware of Jenara’s new position. The chevalier did not seem to mind, however. Not that Celene needed Adele’s approval, but it certainly made matters easier. She still trusted the chevalier implicitly with her life, and was thankful that trust wasn’t strained.

“It is too difficult to teach her at the palace without drawing suspicion. Here, however, she may finally begin her training.”

Archery had never been Celene’s sport. She could fire an arrow, certainly, but she was little more than amateur. Briala possessed the real talent in archery and preferred them over daggers, though she excelled in both, much to the Empress’ chagrin.

“Perhaps the Marquise could provide instruction,” Celene tested idly.

Adele looked to the Empress as she flung another branch into the trees. Celene caught the look and met her eyes, eager for a potential debate.

“You disapprove?” she asked innocently.

Adele thought for a moment and shrugged in her saddle. “It’s not my place to say, your majesty.”

“ _Adele._ ”

The chevalier winced at Celene’s tone. “I…you two seemed…” she tossed another stick to buy herself some time. “Sensitive these past few days since arriving. I didn’t know if I should be on higher alert or…or give you two space.”

Celene suddenly regretted her eagerness for debate. It wasn’t Adele’s fault, but still the Empress gripped tightly to her reins. Had she really been so transparent about Briala? It was likely that Adele and Jenara only noticed because of all the time they spent with the Empress, but Celene couldn’t be sure. Celene remembered the way Briala looked at her when she first stepped out of the carriage in her foreign clothes. Briala’s pulse fluttered in her neck, like it often did when she was excited. And Celene hated that her vanity made her smile at the memory. Had Briala note executed her betrayal, the elf would have been in her arms that very night. But it seemed there would always be something to keep them apart.

“We’ve nothing to fear from the Marquise,” Celene said as the path opened up before them. She kicked her horse, surging forward as she broke out into a gallop, eager to be free from the forest as well. Hoof beats thundered in her ear, matching her racing heart. Wind swept against her heated face and she allowed herself to smile, closing her eyes and trusting her horse to carry her home.

 

* * *

 

Briala knew that Celene had gone to check on her soldiers today, and she stomped down the hall with a purpose. Jenara did not accompany the Empress and her champion, and instead secluded herself in one of the many small studies of the wing. Briala saw many a bird coming and going from the window of the office as she checked on her estate. She bent her wrist inward and felt the comforting edge of her dagger blade. She just hoped she wouldn’t need it.

Though she lacked concrete proof, Briala believed that Jenara was the servant Mihris employed. She was the only one who was around enough to give detailed reports to the mage, and the best of Celene’s servants at going unnoticed whenever she wished. But however good Jenara was, Briala knew she was better, and she could get the elf to admit her deeds. If Jenara was spying on the Empress, Briala could not allow her to continue. Yes, she wanted to prove her loyalty to Celene, but even she had to admit that a small part of her made it personal. Her shoulder still ached sometimes in the night, and the starving immigrants she took in were hard to look at. If Jenara had done that to her, to her agents, she would make her pay.

Jenara stood behind a desk overlooking piles of neatly stacked papers. She wore a simple green dress with the crest of the Empress pinned on her left shoulder, her long braided hair gracing over the right. Her mask had been cast aside and though she was still a small thing, her posture exuded confidence. She lifted her head as Briala entered, and felt her ear twitch slightly as she gazed upon the Marquise.

Briala went without her mask as well, and her light blue gown shimmered in the light that swam through the open window. It was elven, easy to maneuver in like Jenara’s. Jenara straightened, finding comfort in the dagger in the belt on her back, and dipped her head politely to the Marquise. Briala watched as she lowered the papers in her hand face down, and arranged them to cover the other stacks in one fluid, easy to miss motion.

“Jenara,” Briala greeted as she stepped forward. “How do you fare this fine afternoon?”

“F-fine, Lady Briala,” she answered, feeling her cheeks flush at her stutter. Briala made her nervous. Quite a bit made her nervous, actually. But Briala was one instance where her nerves seemed appropriate. There was a glimmer in her dark eyes that Jenara did not like, but she kept her head down as Briala made her way to the window.

“It’s a lovely day,” she commented lightly as she gazed out into the woods. “And here you are, inside.”

Jenara nodded, watching the elf from her peripheral. Briala was scheming again. Jenara felt anger rising in her chest. They couldn’t be at the estate for three days without the Marquise pulling her usual tricks. Briefly, Jenara thought to her Empress, fear filling her mind as she imagined them being ambushed on the trail by Briala’s spies. But she forced the thought out of her mind. Briala was conniving, not stupid. And Adele would allow no harm to come from the Empress.

Briala leaned against the wall for a moment, before she hissed and quickly lifted. Jenara watched as Briala tugged her gown down to expose her shoulder. The skin was mottled and tightly pulled. Jenara swallowed as Briala touched it tenderly and pulled her gown back up.

“Forgive me, Jenara. It’s still a bit sensitive. Cold magic. Burns like fire when applied for too long.”

She knew. She knew and she was baiting Jenara into feeling guilty. Jenara already felt guilty enough for what had been done to the Marquise and her agents, but she could not tolerate Briala dangling their sacrifices in front of her like a cruel game. She lifted her head and met the Marquise’s eyes, unflinching save for her trembling ear.

“It was foolish to run off alone. Hopefully the burn is a lesson learned.”

“At least I get to live with it.”

 “If only someone had inquired about those poor agents, they might still be here to…shoulder your burdens.”

Briala moved then, far too quickly for Jenara, still a beginner in the bardic arts. She took the elf by the neck and pushed her back against the bookcases that lined the wall. Jenara scrambled for her dagger, and Briala was quick to disarm her of it, snatching it from behind her back before Jenara’s trembling fingers could get a grasp. Briala smiled at the fear in Jenara’s eyes that were also laced with defiance. They looked too familiar, and she dipped her head to check for any other weapons.

“Some spymaster,” she said, satisfied that Jenara was no longer a threat. “How can you protect Celene when you can’t even stop a simple noble?”

Jenara managed a smile. The hand on her neck was a warning that kept her in place, not deadly. “We both know you’re not a simple noble,  _my lady_. But please, stroke your ego on disarming me when you’ve had years to my months of training.”

Briala laughed, impressed despite herself. “Where is that trembling ear now? Such fire.” She looked to Jenara’s ear and found it still twitching, and felt the elf shaking beneath her hand. “Still trembling. Courage. Admirable, if nothing else.”

Jenara’s lips quivered as she fought back a snarl. Briala took the dagger she’d pilfered from the elf and placed it gently against her neck.

“You were Mihris’ spy.”

It was not a question, but Jenara answered with a stiff nod anyway.

“Tell me why I should not kill you were you stand, Jenara.”

“Can you afford another affront to the Empress? Celene would see you executed, if her champion does not find you first.”

“For removing a traitor from her court? I doubt it.”

It was Jenara’s turn to laugh. “I’ve never betrayed the Empress. Nor would I.” She met Briala’s eyes as she said it, forcing the words into her conscious.

Briala swallowed and pressed the dagger just a bit deeper. “You seemed more than willing to give information to the first friendly elf you saw. You put Celene’s life in—

“Celene’s life was never in danger.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Will you? You all but sentenced her to death in Jader, made her out to be a monster. Before that you toyed with her life in the civil war. You’re not fit to be in her presence.” Jenara let her eyes run disdainfully up and down Briala. “And yet you’ve twisted her heart into keeping you around. But I do not forgive so easily, Marquise.”

Briala searched for treachery in Jenara’s eyes, any sort of clue that would betray her true intentions. Jenara despised her. That much was certain. But if she despised her out of loyalty for the Empress, Briala could live with that.

“What will Celene do when she finds out you were the source?” Briala tested.

“She knows. Ask her. Mihris approached me with information regarding the assassination attempt. When that turned out to be true I thought she could be useful.” Her eyes softened just a bit, the dagger moving against her throat as she swallowed. “I never meant for anyone to get hurt. And I am sorry for the deaths of your people. But I serve at the pleasure of the Empress.”

Briala wasn’t certain she would ever truly trust Jenara. But Celene did. And that had to be enough for now. She would do a bit more digging later, to be sure. For now, she eased the dagger away from Jenara’s neck and allowed the elf to collect herself from the shelf.

Jenara rubbed gently at her neck and watched as Briala idly examined her dagger. She turned it in the light from the window, watching the silverite catch, and pursed her lips. Without looking, she handed it back to the elf, who was quick to return it to her belt. Though her heart raced all through the encounter, her mind was as sharp as ever. She and Briala appeared to have the same intentions, despite their animosity towards one another. Jenara still didn’t trust the Marquise, and would keep an eye on her. But a small part of her, likely influenced by Adele, was hopeful that Briala was truly sorry for what she’d done to Celene, and was trying to correct her mistake.

“More treachery won’t win her over, you know?” Jenara said as she made her way back over to the desk. Briala turned and raised an eyebrow in her direction. “If lies are what separated you, how can you expect them to bring you together? Try honesty, Marquise. It’s not as painful as it seems.”

Briala thought about smarting off and reminding Jenara of her hypocrisy. But she was stopped as Jenara pointed out the window. Upon looking out, Briala watched as Celene raced her graceful white mare into the estate followed by Adele and the dog. She continued to watch as Celene eased the horse out of her gallop and into a canter, followed by a trot. Being the Empress, Celene’s mares were of the finest quality and training. And though the mare moved beautifully on her own, there was something to be said for Celene’s posture as well. She moved with the horse, rocking her hips to match the gait. Even from their distance Briala could make out Celene smiling. When she finally slowed the horse to a walk, Celene leaned over and ran her hand up and down the mare’s neck. Briala watched as she pressed her face against her mare’s mane, and she knew from when they were girls that Celene was whispering to her horse. Praising her for a job well done and thanking her for the ride.

“She looks happy,” Jenara commented, breaking Briala from her thoughts. The redhead sighed as she leaned against the window, looking down at her Empress. “Wonder how long it will last.”

Briala could feel Jenara’s eyes upon her as Celene led her mare into the stables, but did not meet them as she turned and made her way out the door. 

 

* * *

 

A few young elven stable boys tried to take Celene’s mare from her as she entered the barn. She politely declined and sent them on their way. Still spirited and somewhat at ease from her race, it felt only right to take care of her own horse. It had been years since she’d cared for her own animal, but instinct guided her hand as she made quick work of the saddle. Prudence sat at the door of the barn, stick firmly between her teeth and collecting drool, whining. Adele, having cared for her horse daily, worked faster than Celene, and guided Aveline into her stall just as Celene pulled out a brush.

“If you’re finished, I don’t suppose you’d throw that stick over into Ferelden,” Celene said, shooting a glare at Prudence. “Preferably in Queen Anora’s lap.”

Adele chuckled and bowed her head. “I will occupy her, your majesty.” She walked over to Prudence and took the stick from her mouth, leading the dog out into the pasture. The whining soon drifted away, leaving only Celene and the horses. In her solitude, she removed her mask and placed it over a nearby nail. She brushed her horse down slowly, taking her time to show proper thanks for such a good ride. In the quiet, it was impossible not to hear the sounds of padded feet on the dirt floor, and Celene quickly lifted her head to see who was spying on her.

A smile child, no older than four, peered up at the Empress from behind a post. Her skin was tanned and freckled, though her cheeks bore the red stain of too much sun. Dusty brown hair, mousy from a hard night’s sleep fell about her face in tangled strands, doing nothing to conceal the large pointed ears that jutted out from her head. She wore a pale pink dress, dirty around the hem, and Celene watched her eyes dance madly around her face as she studied the Empress. Celene looked out and into the pasture. She could hear Prudence barking and people milling about, but no one seemed to be calling for a child. And the girl looked like she was used to being left to her own devices, if the dried honey smeared on her chin was any indication.

“Hello,” Celene offered, unsure of why the child was staring at her so severely. She placed her hand on her mare’s back and let it travel across as she walked behind her hind legs to face the girl.

Her eyes widened and she stepped out from behind the poll. “Pretty,” she said, pointing a finger in Celene’s general direction.

“Me?” Celene asked, pointing to herself. “Or the horse?” she pointed behind her.

The girl smiled, revealing small, white teeth. “Both.”

Celene smiled. “Do you like horses?”

She bobbed her head vigorously and mumbled something so excitedly that Celene couldn’t understand it. Still, she nodded and extended her hand.

“Would you like to pet her?”

The girl’s eyes widened again and she stepped forward, eyes never leaving the mare. She gasped when Celene took her hand and placed it to the mare’s stomach, and ran her hand back and forth. She squealed in delight and darted underneath the horse’s stomach to pet the other side. Celene tensed as she did so, and was suddenly very thankful her mare was so well trained. She circled the horse properly and gently took the girl’s hand, crouching to be even with her eyes.

“Never walk under a horse,” she said in what she hoped was a stern, but kind voice. “It scares them, and they might kick at you. Do you understand?”

The girl nodded, ashamed, and Celene saw tears rising in her dark brown eyes. Celene was certain she wasn’t supposed to feel guilty for correcting the child. It had been in her best interest after all. But still a tension crept into her chest and clung to her tightly, subsiding only when she lifted the collar of the girl’s dress to wipe the honey from her chin. The girl smiled at Celene’s touch and stuck her tongue out to reach any leftover traces.

“Would you like to pet her mane?” Celene asked, pointing to the horse.

“Please?”

Without waiting for an answer, the girl turned her back to Celene and raised her arms, clearly having done this before. Celene smiled to herself and lifted the girl, holding her up so she could run her hands through the mane. Her mare was as calm as always, and Celene made a note to treat her once the girl had gone on her way. The girl tensed in her arms and squealed. She wriggled in Celene’s hands, laughing, and fought to get down. It was then that Celene noticed Briala leaning against the door of the barn. The elf was shadowed by the sun outside, but Celene couldn’t miss the smirk on her face and felt her cheeks reddening as she lowered the girl to the ground. Expecting it, she stopped the child when she tried to dart under the horse’s stomach again with a firm hand on her shoulder.

“But Bria!” the child whined, extending her hands outward toward the elf, who did not seem surprised at the endearment.

She hadn’t expected to spy on Celene, but neither had she expected to be taken off guard by the new jacket again. When watching Celene from above, she had been focused on her hips and her head, not the riding breeches and boots that defined the Empress’ legs. Nor had she expected the small flutter in her chest as she watched Celene wipe the child’s face with the utmost gentility, and lift her to pet the horse as if she did this sort of thing all the time.

“If you want to see her, you walk to that wall first, away from the horse’s feet,” Celene said, pointing to the opposite side of the barn.

The girl whined again, pulling against Celene, and Briala spoke for the first time. “Listen to her, child, or I’m leaving.”

She stilled beneath Celene’s hand, and looked up apologetically at the Empress. Celene told her what to do again, and upon receiving a nod, she let her go. She watched as the child raced to the wall as she was told and then towards Briala. Briala lifted herself from the door just as the girl collided with her legs, arms wrapping around her as she bounced excitedly.

“I pet the horse!” she squealed, whirling around to point at the mare Celene was rounding.

“I hope you didn’t dirty her,” Briala teased as she attempted to comb her fingers through the child’s hair. “Something tells me you’ve run from your afternoon bath.”

She turned the girl from her lap and crouched by her side, pointing at Celene. The Empress frowned as Briala whispered into the child’s ear, fearing whatever it was that Briala said. The child’s eyes widened as they gazed upon Celene, and that severe look came back. Celene fought the urge to look away, abhorred at the fact that a child’s eyes could unsettle her so. Briala stood then and gave the girl an encouraging pat on the behind. The child raced forward, nearly toppling over as she bowed in front of Celene.

“Thank you, your ray…radenance?” she said, turning back to look at Briala for confirmation, who nodded. “For letting me pet your horse. I really like that she’s soft and nice and pretty and you’re nice, too, and pretty but Bria is prettiest and Bria’s my favorite.”

Celene laughed softly. “You’re welcome.”

The girl nodded, looking past Celene and to the horse again as she danced in place. “Thank you. I really like flowers, too. Sometimes we, we go out to the field and—

Briala cleared her throat. “Go find your mother and have your bath,” she said gently when the girl turned around.

She nodded obediently and made her way out the door, beaming at Briala as the elf stroked her head affectionately when she passed. With the child gone it was quiet again and Celene picked up her brush to return to her horse. She heard Briala step inside and draw nearer and made certain to keep her brushstrokes even. Prudence could still be heard outside barking, as well as many other people. The barn door was wide open. She had nothing to fear. Still, she gripped the brush just a bit tighter.

“Who was that?” Celene asked as Briala neared.

The elf leaned against an empty stall and frowned as she shrugged. “I can’t keep the children straight anymore. Perhaps a merchant’s daughter…or a baker’s.”

“She knows you well enough.”

“She’s a sweet child. Wrong though,” Briala said with a sigh.

Celene frowned and stopped brushing, lifting her eyes to meet Briala’s. “About what?”

Briala gave her a soft smile. “Who’s prettier, of course.”

Celene clenched her jaw and went back to her brushing. Briala crossed her arms and shook her head. It was worth a try. And the fact that Celene didn’t expel her from the barn was a better sign than she anticipated. She watched Celene brush the mare for a moment, calming herself by the repetitive motions.

“Celene.”

The Empress’ eyes lifted again. Briala could see that she was not in the mood to entertain any more levity, and she dipped her head slightly. She reached out and gently stroked the shoulder of the powerful animal. The muscles were firm beneath her fingers, warm, and she hated to admit that the great beasts frightened her slightly. Celene always had a fondness for them, and it seemed her fondness was returned as she looked into the relaxed eyes of Celene’s pampered mare.

“I’m sorry,” Briala said finally, cheeks flushing as her voice cracked. “We both know what Mantillon said about apologies but I am. Not for making you learn your lesson, but for making you seem a monster. I…” she gave a bitter laugh. “I suppose in some way I was ashamed, too. Ashamed of myself, maybe, or our love.”

Celene’s fingers flexed on the brush at that.

“It doesn’t matter. It was wrong of me. And I’m sorry. You’re not a monster.”

Briala reached out, tentatively, and rested her hand on top of Celene’s. The Empress kept her eyes on her mare and slowly removed her hand from underneath Briala’s.

“It seems Mantillon was right,” Celene said after a moment. “Apologies change nothing.”

“Celene, please, I—

“Don’t beg, Bria,” Celene said in a surprisingly kind tone. “That’s not what either of us wants.”

She gave a mirthless laugh and led the horse back into the stall. After latching it, she looked over at Briala. Briala saw those bright blue eyes wavering.

“I’m scared,” Celene said after a moment, her voice breaking into a whisper at the end. “I’m scared of being alone with you. I keep thinking that someone’s going to see or hear something and our lives will be forfeit. And so I…I just can’t, Bria. Do you understand?”

“Celene, I made a mistake,” Briala implored, stepping closer to the Empress. “Just as you have done. And I’ve forgiven them all.”

She reached for Celene’s hand again. The Empress tugged, but not as hard as she could have, and Briala held tight, bringing the hand to her chest. It was warm and smelled of horses and leather as she pressed her lips to it.

“Can’t you forgive me? We’re in good places now. Orlais is in a good place. Things are different.”

Celene swallowed, tears lining her eyes. She brought her hand up and traced the outside along Briala’s cheek. She pulled it away quickly, trembling, and shook her head. It was in this moment that Celene realized why she was so scared, why she denied herself that which she desired time and again. She was built and bred on lies, force-fed the Game until it dripped eagerly from her lips. And after all this time, she still had trouble distinguishing the truth from the lies. Even when it concerned herself.

“Oh, Bria,” she said, her voice laced with longing. “It’s not you I can’t forgive.”

She took a step back from Briala just as Adele ran up to the barn. She winced as she eyed Celene and Briala, and looked out into the pasture. It was then that Celene and Briala heard shouting and laughter. Celene sighed as she looked to Adele for answers.

“Your majesty, my lady, apologies for the intrusion. I was occupying the dog and I threw the stick beyond the reach of the pasture. And, I’m sorry to say—

Adele was summarily shoved to the side as Prudence came into view. She wagged her tail when she saw Celene, and gave a bark. The bark was muffled by the sound of the exceedingly large fence post she held within her gaping maw. Barbed wire still wrapped around both bends of the post, but appeared stretched as if Prudence had just ripped the metal apart. In fact, that was likely exactly what happened. Prudence trotted proudly into the barn and dropped the post at Celene’s feet with a large thud. Briala blinked as Prudence looked her way and wagged her tail. When Celene refused to pick up the post, Prudence nudged it in Briala’s direction.

Celene sighed and managed a half-hearted smile at Briala. Then she looked to Prudence and began speaking Orlesian. Briala was surprised to find that the dog seemed to understand her, cowering at her rather tame insults and hanging her head in shame. When she finished berating the dog she ordered it to fix the fence and pointed at the post. Prudence walked over and picked up the post again before walking dejectedly out the door. Adele, eager to step away, followed her.

Alone again, Celene dusted off her riding pants. It was a good sign that Prudence currently held no malice towards Briala. But even the dog’s instinct was not enough to quell her fears. At this point, she wasn’t sure she wanted them quelled.

“Please, excuse me, Marquise,” Celene said as she headed towards the door. “I will see you at dinner.”

It was impolite not to bid the Empress farewell. But Briala couldn’t seem to find the words. So she simply watched Celene walk away like she had so many times before. Jenara was wrong. Honesty was just as painful as it seemed.


	28. Chapter 28

Briala woke as if she hadn’t slept at all. Her eyes ached and blurred as she rubbed at them, taking their time to come into focus. Bizarre dreams plagued her all night. At first, she thought they were memories from her childhood. She saw herself getting bathed by her mother, being read to by her father, playing with Celene in a random room of an estate. But in some, she was far too young to be able to remember. She dreamt of being swaddled in a blanket, of teething and her first word. All these images that seemed so real flashed through her mind, some palpably real while others seemed as a whisper.

She sat up in bed with a groan, noting that it was still dark out. Dawn was near, but the sun had yet to crest over the horizon. Rubbing her eyes once more, she eased out of bed and stretched. Her body protested as if she’d only just climbed into bed. Normally, Briala spent her mornings outside, practicing her dagger drills to maintain her physique. Today, however, the idea seemed far too daunting. Instead, he washed her face and hands and put on one of her most comfortable dresses. She took her time brushing out her long, unruly hair and put it in a simple braid. By the time she was done, she was ready for bed again. But dawn was finally peering over the horizon and she had work to do. She may as well get an early start. There was still the matter of the land dispute with Duke Stefan de Firmin.

Briala frowned as she made her way to her study. She should have responded to this matter more quickly, but the Empress’ arrival coupled with other pressing matters had put her behind on her work. Not nearly as behind as she’d been in Val Royeaux or Jader, but just enough to remind her that she was only human…or elven, as far as the expression went. Few people were out at this early hour, but all of them dipped their heads in respect to the Marquise as she passed. They seemed to understand that she was in no mood for small talk, and simply graced her with polite smiles and bids of a good morning.

Whether it was her fatigue or the memories from their interaction in the barn a few days ago, Briala found herself in the wing reserved for Celene. In all honesty, it  _was_  on her way to her office. But only in passing. There was no reason for Briala to make her way down the hall, eyeing the Empress’ door. Briala respected Celene’s decision to remain apart, despite the fact that it hurt her. But that didn’t mean that they couldn’t still be friends. At least, it meant that Briala could try until Celene likely shut her down again. The guilt in her stomach hadn’t receded in the slightest at what she’d done to the Empress. And, as Celene said, an apology meant nothing. She could be as loyal as possible to the Empress, and she was. But the Empress wasn’t who Briala cared about. As embarrassing as it was to admit, Briala wanted her lover back. And if she couldn’t have that, she’d like her friend back. She didn’t want to entertain the thought of what would happen should Celene reject that too, so she dropped it from her mind.

Celene at least appeared to be enjoying herself at the estate. Briala noticed that the Empress had stopped donning her mask and was content to remain in riding breeches for the day or the simple dresses reminiscent of Ferelden style. The elves at the estate knew who she was, and always bowed accordingly as they were supposed to. But Briala knew that their feelings towards Celene were apathetic at best. Certainly, some were likely upset at her handling of Halamshiral among other things. But most of these elves were refugees from the blighted hole in the sky and whatever terrors it brought. Briala allowed them into her home her lands, and the Empress did nothing to stop them other than charging a reasonable tax for their relocation. Their anger was better spent elsewhere, like rebuilding their lives and livelihood. And it seemed Celene was finally starting to grasp that.

Away from the gilded towers and gleaming smiles of Val Royeaux, the Game was rarely played. It was a sport amongst nobles alone and their servants. Those in Briala’s company were neither of those, and so when they bowed to Celene or even graced her with a soft smile, it was sincere. They spoke in no riddles or innuendoes and desired nothing more than to do their jobs without being screamed at. Once she was certain that the Game was not being played, the Empress finally allowed herself to relax just a bit. It showed in her clothes and lack of mask, the relaxed lines around her face, and Briala smiled as she reached her door.

The halls were always lit by candles and torches that lined the halls, but it was the sun that provided real light, streaming through the massive window at the end of the hall. And with the early morning, the hallway was still a shaded blue color. Unless she was dead—a thought Briala certainly didn’t want to entertain—the Empress was most certainly awake. And yet, there was no light emitting from beneath her door. Briala frowned and reached out, tapping her knuckle gently against the door. She was met with silence. Not even a growl from the dog. Allowing her fear to get the better of her, Briala opened the door and peered inside.

The bed was empty and made, the curtains drawn open. She saw Celene’s enchanted teapot steaming on a table near the window, resting next to a small stack of papers. Briala breathed a sigh of relief and closed the door. Celene was already up and about, and she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Turning, Briala made to head back down the hall and towards her office. Her office was at the end of another large hallway with a massive, gleaming window that faced the east. It caught the first sunlight of the day and Briala squinted as she made her way down it. It wasn’t until she was at her door that she noticed the figure standing next to the window.

Leaning against the window was Celene. She was in a simple, periwinkle jacket that flowed downward to hang off of her hips and act as an over gown on top of a cream under gown. Gold embroidery danced along the soft blue, catching and glinting in the sun its various designs. Celene was also in a lazy, loose braid. Strands of hair had fallen loose and swept around her cheeks, catching the light and making them shine as if they truly were gold spun. She held a book in one hand, a cup of steaming tea in the other, and was oblivious to the world as she utilized the sunlight for her reading.

Celene’s eyes were already a pale blue, but with sunlight inside of them, they seemed as colorless as diamonds, and Briala watched as they ran back and forth quickly over the page. The Marquise smiled in spite of herself. She hadn’t seen Celene look this at peace in years, if at all, and she was pleased that her estate was the likely cause. Briala stepped forward quietly, suppressing a laugh at the fact that Empress appeared not to notice her. Celene was always on edge, always alert from her bard training, and yet she didn’t look up until Briala leaned against the window in front of her at a respectable distance. Briala caught sight of a few other elves in the hallway, cleaning the floors and dusting, and hoped it was enough to put Celene at ease.

“Well,” Briala said easily as their eyes met, “don’t you put a sunrise to shame.”

Celene made to frown, and Briala put her hands up in surrender. “Even friends can compliment each other on their appearances, can’t they? You look beautiful this morning, your majesty. Nothing more.”

A touch of pink colored Celene’s cheeks but she managed a polite smile. “Thank you, Marquise. You’re too kind.” She turned the page with the hand that held her teacup, her pinky sliding it over easily. “Were you looking for me?” she asked as she began to read again.

“My office is there,” Briala said, jutting her head towards the door, though Celene’s head was still lowered. “I thought I’d give you a proper greeting…and see what has you so engrossed.”

“It’s terrible, actually,” Celene said with a sigh, flipping the book closed. “Anora recommended it, but I honestly don’t know what she sees in this. Thankfully, her taste in books doesn’t reflect her intellect.”

Briala caught the title of  _Swords and Shields_  as the Empress dropped the book to her side, title facing inward to keep it from prying eyes. She smirked. “I really wanted the knight commander to end up with the cloister sister.”

Celene raised a curious eyebrow. “Does she? I was hoping the same thing. It’s the only reason I’m still suffering through this garbage.”

Briala shook her head. “Alas, she ends up with the Grey Warden.”

Celene turned up her nose in distaste. “The doltish rags to riches boy? How unbelievably cliché. Master Tethras’ talents are best suited to genres other than romance.”

“Especially since he seems to think kneading breasts like dough are sure to drive women wild.”

Celene’s chest shook as she tried to suppress a laugh. “Certainly. The knight commander deserves better.”

“Like the cloister sister.”

“Like the cloister sister.”

She took a sip of her tea as Briala nodded. Though Briala complimented her this morning, Celene could hardly say the same about her and have it be truthful. Briala always looked beautiful to the Empress, but to declare it now would seem insincere. There was a touch too much oil in Briala’s hair and it frizzed out a bit more than normal. She looked tired, small bags underneath her eyes. In fact, she looked to be dozing against the warm glass. Celene frowned.

“Forgive me, Marquise, but you seem a bit…tired,” she offered kindly.

Briala opened her eyes wider at the words, trying to keep them open, and blinked rapidly. “Apologies, your majesty. I did not sleep well last night.”

Celene found herself offering her teacup to the elf before she really knew what she was doing. It was all too late to realize that the gesture was too personal to be professional. It was instinct, almost, a natural reaction to tend to her past lover. But it was too late to pull it back. Briala was already eyeing the cup. It was tempting. Celene’s teas were usually powerful enough to wake the dead. And if Celene made it herself, she no doubt made it a bit stronger than Briala used to allow. She took the cup and drank slowly. Even with the ever present honey, it was bitter and thick, the barest hints of sweet spice hitting her only after she swallowed. Still, even the first drink seemed to perk her up a bit. She made to hand it back to Celene, but the Empress shook her head. She’d already had two this morning, and her headache was pleasantly silent at the moment.

An elf passed them by carrying a handful of sheets. She stopped and bowed to the both of them before carrying on her way. Celene swallowed as she watched the woman walk away. She’d barely looked at the both of them, stopping only because decorum demanded it. It wasn’t an active attempt to be discrete either. The elf truly didn’t care that the Marquise and the Empress were talking together in the early morning over tea and terrible books. No one here seemed to care about anything except their day to day lives and it was oddly comforting. Especially for someone whose life revolved around the success of their day to day.

“Oddly light reading for someone who can send a famous scholar into hiding with one rebuttal,” Briala said as she eyed the book again. A smirk played at the corner of her lips.

Celene fought the urge to roll her eyes in frustration. “I wrote it in private, intended to burn it, and  _miraculously_  it finds its way to the University of Orlais.” Celene had no doubt that Jenara was the one to sneak the paper off to the university. But by the time she found out the damage had been done, and scolding her would only make it worse.

“I hear that people are awaiting this anonymous scholar’s next paper. I wonder what it would be on?”

“Nothing,” Celene said confidently, nodding her head once.

Briala feigned disappointment. “You would have been a great scholar.”

“Alas, I only became Empress instead. Besides, everyone, like you, would soon tire of my diatribes.”

“I never tire of your diatribes,” Briala said kindly. When she was a child, she certainly had. But now that she was without, Briala would listen to Celene forever.

Celene allowed herself to roll her eyes this time and looked down the hall. “A little early to be working, isn’t it?”

Briala smiled at their shared joke and crossed her arms. “I’m a bit behind.”

“Is that what’s ruining your sleep?”

Briala shook her head. “No…I just had bizarre dreams all night. Hopefully it’s temporary. Though I think I’d prefer a sleepless night to having to deal with Duke Stefan de Firmin.”

Celene gave her a curious smile as Briala took another sip of the tea and winced. It was helping, despite the taste, and she forced another sip down before continuing.

“Land dispute. Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Majesty.”

Celene licked her lips, swiping the loose hairs on her cheeks behind her ears. “I admit, correspondence with Val Royeaux has been mundane as of late. I would relish the opportunity to discuss livelier matters of state.”

Briala eyed her for a moment and found herself smiling. “You can’t help but swamp yourself with work, can you?”

“Have you ever known me to be otherwise?”

Celene meant it innocently. Briala could see it in her eyes and her kind smile. But it still caused her stomach to ache. Celene was her oldest friend. They knew everything about each other, and the fact that she could not revel in all that she knew caused Briala to remove herself from the wall and beckon the Empress to her office. She left the door open for the Empress’ comfort and was pleased to see Celene still looked relatively relaxed when she entered.

Celene discarded her book among the many others that lined the walls, taking care to place it up high to keep it out of a child’s grasp. Briala offered her the chair behind her desk and Celene shook her head, all but forcing the tired elf to sit down instead. Briala sighed and eased herself into the chair, placing her tea to the side. She gathered a few sheets of paper, along with her attempted reply, and handed them over to Celene. The Empress was a quick reader and it wasn’t long before she set the papers down, brow furrowed as she stood next to the desk.

“I don’t understand why there’s a dispute to begin with. What claim does he have?”

Briala sighed in irritation, though Celene knew it wasn’t directed at her. “When the original division of lands was drawn up, the Perreaults were the ruling power over Val Firmin. Obviously, it wasn’t called Val Firmin at the time but that’s inconsequential. The Perreaults lost their noble title, which makes Stefan’s claims dubious at best. It wasn’t a problem until you named a Marquise of the Dales. Now that there’s someone controlling this land, Duke Stefan claims that he owns a part of my land. I could challenge him, go through the proper channels to send him running back to his own lands. But it takes time and effort needed elsewhere with this damned war. On the other hand, simply acquiescing to his wishes will make me seem soft.”

“A small, temporary price for the payoff,” Celene said simply.

Briala looked up at her, frowning. Seeing that she didn’t quite grasp her plan, Celene placed her arms on the desk and smiled at her before lifting her chin to the teacup.

“Have another sip and think about it.”

Briala looked up at her warily, then did as she was told. She reread the request from Duke Stefan that claimed a portion of the Dales was his and thought about Celene’s words. It took only another moment before she sighed and rubbed her face with her hands.

“So simple,” she murmured, slightly embarrassed. “Give him the land that matters so little to me, and reap the benefits in trade.”

Celene smiled. “Well done, Marquise.”

Briala lowered her hands and looked up at Celene with narrowed eyes. She brought her chair closer to her desk, bringing her nearer to Celene’s face. “You’ve been reading up on my impending trade agreements.”

Celene shrugged innocently. “As I said, matter from Val Royeaux have been mundane.”

“Are you checking up on me, your majesty?”

Another innocent shrug. “Do you need checking up on, Marquise?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

They smiled at each other. Celene was pleased to see that Briala didn’t look quite so bleary-eyed anymore. Her deep, dark eyes were still just a bit reddened though, and Celene caught sight of an eyelash on her cheek. She reached out and plucked it gently, discarding it to the floor with a flick of her fingers. Then she made to try and smooth the frizz on top of Briala’s head, smiling when she found it as unruly as ever.

Briala licked her lips as she watched Celene’s eyes focus on the top of her head. She smelled faintly of her bath and rich fabrics, and her touch was gentle on Briala’s head. The blue was back in her eyes, thanks to the drawn curtains of her office. She loved seeing Celene so at ease, but at the same time, she knew that it couldn’t last. Celene would hate to be caught fixing the Marquise’s hair by anyone, and her office door was still open. She would feel stupid, guilty, blame herself and retreat back to her mask and rigid posture. Briala didn’t know if she could take that. It was late enough that the younger children would soon rise and make their way inside in hopes of a smile or folded paper dragon.

Slowly, Briala reached up and caught the Empress’ wrist with her fingertips. Celene met her eyes, and Briala saw the look in them. She knew it well, and in the past would have taken the hint that lied within in them and kissed her. Instead, she stood to give them more space, and let Celene’s hand go, not daring to even trace her fingertips along the skin as it left her touch. Celene blinked, collecting herself, and straightened, clearing her throat. She still looked slightly ashamed, and Briala reached for the teacup before Celene could offer an unnecessary apology.

“Thank you for the tea,” she said before Celene could get a word out. “And for the advice, your majesty.”

Celene felt the teacup press into her hand and took it gently. She lost herself again, and so quickly. The ease of the estate had clearly gotten to her. And Celene wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Jenara seemed confident in the fact that there were no spies at the estate. No noble wanted to risk getting caught and upsetting a vast number of elves. But she was still foolish to drop her walls so quickly, no matter how nice it felt to wake up in the morning and read a smutty novel to the light of a sunrise. No matter how fatigued Briala looked, no matter how gentle her touch always was, and no matter how much she could see the longing in the elf’s eyes.

“My pleasure,” Celene answered finally, and Briala shivered at the voice of the Empress.

Briala knew that Celene was turning to leave. Just like she always did. Like Briala always did. Always one leaving the other. It couldn’t continue if they were to mend this relationship. Briala made to reach out to her, then stopped and collected her voice instead.

“Your majesty?”

Celene turned as Briala rounded the desk with a polite smile. “Would you like to accompany me to breakfast?”

It was a perfectly polite and reasonable request that any member of Celene’s court could have made. And that allowed the Empress to smile as she nodded her head in agreement. Briala bowed to let the Empress leave first and they walked side by side down the hall, speaking easily.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A chapter with hardly any angst? I thought you wonderful readers deserved a break. Thanks so, so much for continuing to enjoy this story!


	29. Chapter 29

It was a comical sight, Jenara with a longbow. The bow was nearly as tall as the elf, and looked to be much sturdier. Given time, Jenara would certainly come to use a short bow, but the longbow was easier to learn on. Celene watched with a blank expression as Jenara nocked another arrow. Any sign of disappointment on her features was certain to rend Jenara useless in her own self-pity for the rest of the day; a lesson she learned the hard way yesterday.

“Posture,” Celene commented quietly. Her own spine shivered at the memory of Mantillon’s switch when she made such a mistake. It never left a physical mark, but it seemed that wasn’t necessary all these years later.

Jenara’s brow furrowed, but she brought her shoulders back, straightening as she eyed the large hay bale that was her target. Celene chose a spot behind the barn for them to practice. Children tended not to frequent the area, fearing the nearby woods. It was safer to be away from children who moved too quickly and were noticed too late as Jenara learned her weapon.

Adele stood next to Celene, frowning intently. Celene noted that Jenara was particularly hostile whenever the chevalier tried to instruct her, and since then Adele kept her mouth shut. But she could see the slight movement of the chevalier rocking back and forth on her feet, longing to correct her for something. Celene looked Jenara over and couldn’t find anything that was worthy of correction so early in her learning stages. Adele, part of one of the most elite group of soldiers in all of Thedas, likely corrected Jenara on too many things at once, wounding the elf’s pride. Teaching was not for everyone and Celene fought back a smirk as Jenara let the arrow loose and watched it sail high over her target.

Prudence barked eagerly and raced after it, pleased that her fetching skills were finally being put to use. Jenara sighed, clearly frustrated, but nocked another arrow. Celene decided to stay quiet. Her shot wasn’t all that bad, after all, just her aim. The next shot, however, was sloppy, the arrow wavering weakly in the air before the wind knocked it down. Jenara went to get that arrow herself, her feet stomping just a bit too harshly on the dirt as she went.

“She senses your judgment, champion,” Celene said once the elf was out of earshot. “Perhaps I should send you to fetch the arrows if you can’t control your need to correct her.”

Adele gripped tightly to her sword, allowing her head to bow in shame. “Forgive me, your majesty. Shall I leave you two alone?”

Celene didn’t want to admit that the thought of being left alone outside with an elf, even if it was Jenara, was still a little too sensitive to think about. She looked to Adele, who was also mask-less now, and studied the sharp lines of her chin. If not for her lovely shaped, kind eyes, Adele would look nearly as intimidating as she did with her mask. But the eyes softened her, and without the mask to remind her to keep her emotions in check, Celene could read her fairly easily. Instead of answering Adele’s question, she decided to change the subject and take a chance on her skill at reading people. 

“She’s not ready for war,” Celene said as Jenara stomped back towards them with Prudence in tow. “I would not allow her near the battle.”

Adele sighed, confirming Celene’s theory. “I know you wouldn’t. But I fear even the will of the Empress is not enough to keep her away.”

“She is not stupid. She knows she would only serve as a distraction on the battleground.”

“But what’s to stop her from taking to a tree with her newfound bow skills. And what if—

“Then she must be allowed to make those mistakes, and learn from them. You cannot protect her from everything, chevalier. Nor should you.”

Adele said nothing as Jenara fired another shot. It angled down quickly into the ground. Jenara murmured something that was likely an expletive beneath her breath and turned to Celene for guidance. When Celene saw her eyes widen just slightly, ear trembling, she knew they were no longer alone.

“Archery never was your preferred method,” Briala commented lightly as she stepped to the other side of the Empress. “May I?”

Celene dipped her head and Briala made her way over to Jenara. The elf eyed her warily, arrow held tightly between her fingers. Briala nodded politely at her in greeting.

“Resume the stance, please.”

Jenara hesitated only a moment before doing as she was told. Briala walked around her, daring to cross in front of the arrow as well. She lowered Jenara’s elbow a bit and let her fire again. It was a better shot, but it still far missed the bale. For a moment, Briala considered taking the bow from her and showing her how it was done. But her wrist had never quite regained its strength after its break, and she didn’t want any present company to see the arrow falter in her hand.

“Again.”

Jenara shook her head in frustration but complied. When she pulled the bow back, Briala reached out and touched the hand that held the arrow. She brought her arm down to the muscle of her bicep and was pleased with what she found. Celene had been thorough in her training, at least. Just like she’d been with her. She lowered Jenara’s elbow just slightly and stepped back.

“Does that feel comfortable?”

Jenara paused for a moment, frustration evident in her face. She was close to becoming petulant, and Briala fought back a smirk, knowing it would only speed the process.

“I suppose.”

“You feel your knuckle against her cheek? Remember that spot. Your shots are wavering because you’re shooting all over the place. You need an anchor. Don’t worry about the bale for now. Just worry about anchoring your shots every time.”

Jenara fired the rest of the arrows in her quiver, sending them all over the place, but in increasing speed and distance. She worked her shoulder out once she was finished, looking far more at ease. Progress was made, at the very least, and her temper cooled.

“Keep that up until you don’t have to think about it anymore. Then you can move onto aiming.”

Jenara looked at the Marquise, eyes still defiant. They regarded each other quietly, running through the training session in their minds to find weakness or insult. When Jenara could find none, she dipped her head to the Marquise.

“Thank you, Marquise.”

Briala nodded and watched as Jenara went to help Prudence with collecting arrows. The dog had several in her mouth as it was, and drool began to string down her jowls. She turned to make her way back to Celene. As she neared, Adele stepped away, smiling politely as she murmured something about helping Jenara with the arrows.

Celene kept her frustration to herself as Adele left her side. She knew what the chevalier was doing, and was not pleased in the slightest. Briala had been pleasant these past few days, as well as respectful. If Celene wasn’t careful, she could almost believe that they were just friends. And she wanted that. She wanted Briala as much as her mind and heart would allow. But giving privacy to the two of them implied something stronger than friendship. And implications were never a good thing.

Briala chuckled quietly by Celene’s side and reclined against the nearby fence. “Remember when we were girls?” she asked when she saw Celene’s attention on her. “And you’d just gotten over a fever. Must have been twelve or so. You snuck into my room and pulled me out of bed and out the door to that fall festival?”

It was Celene’s turn to laugh softly. She’d been so restless during her illness; she never could tolerate idleness. The night her fever broke, she’d been looking out the window at the festival in the nearby town, the lights and laughter and music echoing even from their distance.

“That was the first time I’d been on a horse,” Briala said. “And I held so tightly to you, surely you couldn’t breathe.”

“Not easily,” Celene admitted, reminiscing. It didn’t seem worth mentioning that Celene rode with one hand on the reins that night while the other gently rubbed Briala’s arm in an attempt to soothe her.

“You were so excited to be out of bed. And then you went and—almost immediately, I think—made yourself sick on candied nuts.” Briala laughed, eyes shining in the warm sun.

Celene shook her head, ignoring the blush in her cheeks. “It was not my finest moment. Any reason you’re making me relive it?”

“Are you busy tonight, your majesty?” Briala’s eyes were bright, mischievous.

Celene knew that she was letting the Empress see this and it made her wary. She frowned, suspicious. “Not pressingly so.”

Briala tilted her head behind her. “The village you passed through on the first day claims its first spring harvest, and by tradition are throwing a spring festival. I thought you might want to attend.”

Celene pursed her lips and looked to Jenara and Adele. They were close by, and it seemed Jenara was calm enough to allow Adele to give her a few hints on the bow. Their proximity was comforting. She’d been to several festivals before, many of them in her honor, but she hadn’t been to a small village festival since that night of their shared memory. Instead of nobles, she would be surrounded by commoners. There would likely be an abundance of alcohol and brawls, fat laden meats, and of course, candied nuts. She hadn’t been able to stomach the confection since that night, even if the memory was a good one. If she was still twelve, she might have enjoyed the idea. But now the thought only made her uneasy.

“That’s quite short notice,” she said finally when her silence went on for too long.

“You said you weren’t busy,” Briala answered easily, picking at the wooden fence with a nail. It needn’t be said that Briala waited until the last moment to ensure the Empress couldn’t Game her way out of it.

“You know it wouldn’t do for me go to something like that.”

Briala frowned, and Celene couldn’t tell if she was playing dumb or truly didn’t understand. “No, I don’t know that.”

Celene sighed and laced her fingers together across her waist. “It wouldn’t do for me to be seen engaging in frivolity with war imminent. They’ll think me ignorant and even worse at military matters than I’m already seen.”

Briala eased herself off of the fence, arms crossed. She looked at ease, Celene noted, though the bags under her eyes hadn’t improved. Briefly she pondered if Briala was still struggling with her dreams or if it was another matter entirely. But then she reminded herself that it wasn’t her business anymore, and she looked down into the dirt.

“If they notice you at all,” Briala began, her voice kind, “they’ll think you human. No one says you have to get drunk and dance on a table. But you are allowed to relax.”

Celene looked down at her light gown, felt the breeze on her unmasked cheeks and gave a soft laugh. “Am I not relaxed enough? I didn’t realize my leisure was  _also_  a matter of debate.”

Briala held her hands up in defeat. “You’ll be the only one here if you don’t attend. The estate is going. Maybe you’ll enjoy the privacy more.” She sighed.

Celene resisted the urge to kick at the dirt beneath her feet. “I’m sure your people will enjoy time away from the decorum I require.”

“You  _require_?” Briala raised a brow. “They’ve all but stopped bowing in your presence. But I don’t think you’ve even noticed.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Marquise. But I have to respectfully decline.”

Briala took another step closer, still a respectful distance but only just. Celene watched her intently, blue eyes bright and shining despite her frown. Briala resisted the urge to grin. She always found Celene the most winsome when she was confused.

“There’s a hole in the sky, maybe a blight. People have been killed, displaced, pillaged. This festival is the first sign of hope for them in a long time. It might be a nice gesture if the Empress showed she believed in it as well.” She paused and gave an innocent shrug. “Plus, if you stay, then someone will have to stay with you. And it seems cruel to let them miss out on the festival just because you have an image to maintain.”

Celene did not appreciate being teased. Especially when it was true. But Briala’s persistence was unsettling. She could see nothing of malice behind those big, shining eyes. But neither did she see them on the day of her betrayal. Certainly, she was in a different emotional state in Jader, and that played to Briala’s advantage. Though she was currently not overcome with lust, love for Briala would always be there. And Celene wondered if that would always put her at a disadvantage when it came to reading the Marquise. She did feel guilty about making Adele, and subsequently Jenara, stay behind. But guilt was familiar to her, and she could work with it far easier than brave the paranoia Briala brought about.

“I can’t,” she said finally with a shake of her head.

Briala’s face fell. Things were still fragile between them, it seemed. No amount of good memories could erase the bad. Briala knew that from experience as well. She took a step back. “I will not press you. But I will miss you tonight. Shall I bring you back some candied nuts?”

Celene grimaced and shook her head. “I still can’t stomach the things. But…the effort is appreciated, Marquise.” She nodded to Briala and made her way over to Jenara, hands clenched tightly in front of her.

 

* * *

 

Celene couldn’t concentrate in so quiet a manor. She’d grown used to the squeals of children and chattering of elves, the loud footsteps and open windows that let in sounds of chopping wood and farm animals.  But with everyone in the manor gone save for the three of them, even her palace in Val Royeaux was not as quiet. She reread the same line from her book a fourth time and sighed. Adele looked up from her own book, then resumed it when the empress shook her head. Jenara was down the hall in the office she’d commandeered for her tasks, doing Maker knows what.

When she was certain Adele was engrossed in her reading again, Celene took the chance to study her. She did not seem upset at having to stay behind, but the Empress wasn’t all that surprised about that. It was her duty to protect her Empress, wherever she may go. Still, Celene wondered if a part of her looked forward to the evening. Perhaps she and Jenara had made some clandestine plans.

With the Marquise out of her sight and subsequently out of her mind, Celene could see that she was too presumptuous in declining the offer. Nothing bad would come from not going, certainly. And it still was safer to be at the estate than a village swarming with commoner elves. Besides, in her position and with the current state of affairs, she had no business engaging in merriment. No right.

“Does the knight commander fall in love with the cloister sister?” Adele asked, breaking Celene from her thoughts. Celene had given her  _Swords and Shields_  to dispose of, and the innocent turn of her mouth at the question made the Empress smile.

“I suppose you’ll have to read and see.”

Adele snarled a bit, eyeing the book warily. Clearly she thought as much of it as Celene had. The Empress allowed herself to chuckle. “No, she doesn’t. The Grey Warden.”

Adele snapped the book closed and set it on the table, standing to peer out the window. She could see the lights from the nearby village and, if she strained, could even hear the jovial sounds that echoed from it. She took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, letting her thoughts wander.

Celene could see the longing in her chevalier’s eyes, and tried to suppress the guilt that formed at the sight. Adele would be fighting in the battle, too, and was under just as much stress as the rest of Orlais, if not more given her position. She and Jenara deserved a night to themselves at the very least. The Empress, as always, would simply have to endure the risks that came with ensuring her people’s happiness.

“Fetch Jenara and tell her we’re going to the festival,” she said as calmly as she could muster, standing and dropping her own book unceremoniously onto the couch. “I’ll meet you in the stables.”

Adele hesitated for only a moment before nodding and giving a bow. “Yes, your majesty,” she said before exiting the room.

Once free from the eyes of the Empress, Adele broke into a brisk jog down the hall towards Jenara’s office. She knocked twice and peered inside, smiling at the elf who sat in a chair far too large for her, scribbling away.

“I got her,” Adele said quickly, stepping inside.

Jenara set her quill down and gave the chevalier an impish smirk. “You weren’t too cruel, were you?”

“I’d hardly begun to pout. I think she wants to go more than we do.”

Jenara rose from her chair and rounded the desk. “Of course she does. That’s why we had to make her do it  _for us_. An Empress, much like a chevalier…” she paused to run her finger down the design of Adele’s jacket, “must always have her pride.”

Adele took Jenara’s hand and held it tightly. “You’re certain there’ll be no threats tonight?”

“I can be certain of nothing. But it is doubtful. The Marquise knows her position is precarious, and neither her spymaster nor I have received word of anything out of the ordinary.”

“Very well. Shall we?” She bent down to kiss Jenara sweetly, and took her hand to lead her out to the stables.

 

* * *

 

The festival was in full force by the time the Empress arrived. Hundreds of elves crowded the small village. Music played from somewhere, a lively, twangy jolt that sounded so different to the Empress’ ear than the soft trills of noble bards. Braziers were set up at safe distances, warming the crowd from a cool wind. Carts lined the sides of houses with merchants selling all sorts of needless things like puzzles and toys and noisemakers. Celene smelled food as well, a mixture of salty and fatty and sweet that was both appetizing and nauseating all at once.

Celene dismounted easily, placing the reins in Adele’s waiting hand. No one paid her arrival any mind, too content to watch the dancers on the makeshift dance floor or the weaving of the maypole. In a way it was exhilarating to be another face in the crowd. She looked at the elves as the horses were stabled, their slender, wiry bodies, shorter stature, and long tapered ears. It occurred to her then that she was one of the tallest here, matching the height of the tallest male elves in view. Adele surely towered over them all. She was also not as wiry, and in that moment she was acutely aware of just how small her ears were. They ignored her entirely, but it didn’t matter. She knew she was different from them, and not entirely welcome in this safe place that they had every right to have.

Unnerved, Celene sought the crowd for Briala. She couldn’t see her, but she did find small comfort in the few faces she recognized from the estate. Adele appeared by her side, studied the crowd, and shifted her weight onto one leg. It shortened her height just a bit, but not enough to matter in the slightest.

“Orders, your majesty?” she asked politely.

“Enjoy yourselves,” Celene answered simply. “It is likely this is the last free time we’ll have before the battle. Go on, Adele,” she urged at seeing the chevalier’s hesitance.

“Majesty, I need to see you at all times, to protect you.”

“Aside from you I am the tallest and palest one here. How difficult will it be to see me? Besides, we all know that she will not leave my side,” Celene said, pointing to Prudence who panted happily as she watched the crowd. “Go. That’s an order.”

Adele made to protest again, but was silenced as Jenara took her sleeve and tugged gently. Celene watched as the elf led her into the crowd, where the humans were noticed for the first time. Curious glances followed Adele before they were laid on the Empress. A few elves smiled, some bowed, and some carried on their way. Celene kept her posture straight and tried to put an easy smile on her face, hoping it was more convincing than she felt.

A small, sticky hand fell into hers. Celene looked down to find the same child from the barn beaming up at her. Aside from her hair being brushed and plaited, the child looked as dirty as Celene remembered. Grease smeared her chin and there was a stain on her dress.

“Your radenance,” she said, clearly proud that she had remembered Celene’s title.

“What’s your name?”

“Shae.”

It was likely a nickname for some mellifluous elven name, but Celene took it all the same. “May I help you with something, Shae? Finding your parents, maybe?”

“I know where they are. Can I pet the horse?”

“She’s resting right now. Would you know where the Marquise—where Briala is?”

Shae nodded, eyeing a nearby food cart. “Talking to the scary elves.”

Celene frowned and her chest tightened in panic. “What scary elves?”

“The ones with the masks. She wouldn’t let me hug her. She sent me away.”

Celene looked for Adele and found her easily. She was nearby enough to hear her, should she call. But causing a panic amongst all of these people was unwise. It was best to go alone and assess the situation herself, before doing something rash. “Will you take me to them?” she asked in the sweetest voice she could muster in her fear.

Shae nodded and tugged on her hand, leading her into the crowd. With Prudence in tow, they parted easily and quickly for which the Empress was thankful. They went past the maypole and the food carts until the crowds dwindled and only a few people were scattered about as the village neared its end. Then Shae let go of Celene’s hand and pointed. Celene could just make out Dalish caravans nestled just beyond the trees. A crowd of Dalish elves stood outside of the trees, speaking to Briala. She wasn’t close enough to make out their faces, but she could see the glint of their swords and armor in the setting sun.

“Go find your parents,” she said to Shae, watching as the girl began to pout. “If you’re good, I’ll tell Briala to find you later.”

Shae beamed up at Celene and nodded quickly before she ran back towards the festival. Celene attempted to wipe the sticky residue from her palm as she made her way towards the elves. They noticed her soon, hands going quickly to their swords before Briala placated them with a movement of her hand. She turned and eyed Celene as she neared, a curious expression on her face.

“Clan Feyvin,” she said when Celene arrived, turning to address the Dalish. “May I present her imperial majesty, the Empress of Orlais, Celene Valmont the First.”

The keeper, easily distinguished by his ornate staff, did not bow. His  _vallaslin_  was dark and intricate, making his features almost undistinguishable in the hazy dusk light. His hair was white from age and long, pulled back behind his head. Dark eyes narrowed as they fell upon the mabari at the Empress’ side, who stood as straight and regal as her master. Celene regarded him easily but kept her face calm, looking to Briala for a clue as to what was going on. Briala merely furrowed her brow at the man.

“This is the human who put an elf in power? I must say I expected…more,” Feyvin said finally, lifting his hand to gesture lazily to Celene’s simple lavender gown.

Just as she was aware of her height and ears, Celene was now acutely aware of the simple gown she wore, her lack of makeup and mask, and the simple bun her hair was in. She looked little higher class than a merchant, and could do nothing to stop the shame that burned her cheeks.

“She is your Empress, Feyvin,” Briala said shortly. “You are on her land and you will show respect.”

“Forgive me, Marquise, I thought I was on  _your_  land,” Feyvin retorted. But finally he dipped his head in a mockery of a bow. “We thought we’d see if the rumors were true. If an elf really held power again in Orlais.” He shot a disparaging glance at Celene. “Humans in power we’ve seen enough of.”

“It was Celene who bestowed the title,” Briala answered, feeling anger rising in her at the Dalish superiority. They hadn’t come to her aid during the civil war, cared nothing for city elves, and were long stuck in the past. If they expected easy passage into her land now they had another thing coming.

“I’m to thank her for returning what she plundered?”

“You’re to show respect to the Marquise of the land upon which you squat,” Celene said in her most regal tone.

That caught Feyvin off guard. He looked curiously at Celene, studying her and the strange back and forth that occurred between her and Briala. It seemed odd to him that elf would be so protective of a human woman in power. Perhaps she was being threatened? Then again, rumors had circulated among the caravans of a group of humans and elves who unleashed a demon upon a Dalish clan. It seemed unlikely that the Empress would be a part of such events. The new Marquise of the Dales, however, was an unknown.  

“It’s true then? You’ve willingly given land over to an elf? She has power amongst your nobles?”

“She does.”

“And you rule this land, filled with elves?”

Briala nodded, then grimaced at the look in his eye. “Arlathan is no more, Feyvin. You cannot reclaim the past, despite your efforts. And you will not make my people, the ones you’ve ignored and belittled all these years, your stepping stones for greatness.”

Celene suppressed a smile. Briala was always so strong, always willing to do and say the things Celene could not. And in this moment, where the Game wasn’t being played, it worked in her favor.

Feyvin raised an eyebrow at Briala. Then he looked past her to the crowd and relaxed his stance. “It appears we’ve come during festivities. Far be it from us to keep you from that. Happiness is a luxury these days,” he said, turning his head towards the direction of the gaping hole in the sky.

“You’re welcome to partake,” Briala said kindly. “I know many an elf who would pay good coin for Dalish wares.”

Feyvin’s eyes widened at the proposition. He looked as if he wanted to agree with her, then smiled kindly and shook his head. “Another time Marquise. My clan will be in these woods for a few weeks more. We can discuss…trade, when there’s not a festival behind you.  _Dareth shiral_ , Marquise. Empress.”

The two women watched in silence as the Dalish retreated into the trees. When she was certain they were alone, Celene looked to Briala. She looked content and at ease. And though the bags were gone from her eyes, there was an exhaustion to her countenance that was all too familiar to the Empress.

“I hope I didn’t ruin anything?” Celene asked, tilting her head to the woods.

Briala shook her head. “I’ll likely see more Dalish passing through, curious to this new land run by an elf. If I could get trade going between them, get them on a schedule of sorts…” she paused and shook her head before smiling up at Celene. “I did not expect to see you here.”

“Nor I,” Celene admitted as she turned and headed back towards the crowd. “More dreams?”

Briala sighed. The dreams were no more. But now she was waking up as if she hadn’t slept at all. Obviously she was sleeping, as she would go to bed in the evening and wake up in the morning. But it happened as quickly as blinking, and she felt no more energized or rejuvenated from the previous night. Naps were normal, and helped, but she couldn’t afford to waste much time on them while rebuilding her estate and preparing for war. She wondered if Celene slept like this, too, and it was why she always woke before Briala and never seemed to gain any satisfaction from sleep.

“Burdens of the Marquise,” she said finally, watching Celene’s lips twitch in a ghost of a smile. “May I accompany you throughout the festival?”

Celene watched Briala extend her arm. It was perfectly normal to be escorted by the head of the estate. Even as equals, she and Anora sometimes took arms in Jader to talk quietly amongst themselves as they walked through the halls. People about would think nothing of it, but even—

“Celene.”

The Empress blinked, broken from her thoughts as she gazed upon Briala’s sincere smile. “What are the spies going to say, if there are any? That the Empress enjoyed herself at a festival? That the Marquise accompanied her? Unless you decide to test your luck with candied nuts again, I think you’re safe.”

Celene couldn’t help but smile softly at that. And though her heart hammered in her chest, she took Briala’s arm and allowed the elf to escort her through the festival. They stopped at almost all the carts, taking their time to peruse the small wares, toys, and jewelry. Celene, spurred by some noble intent to help her economy as much as possible, bought as much as she could with the coin she had on hand. Most of it was handmade toys, which were from the merchants who looked least well off. Briala distributed them to children as they ran along, and gave Shae a hug at Celene’s insistence, followed by a puzzle toy.

At Briala’s insistence, Celene was made to try venison that was cooked in day old grease and something called peasant bread, which tasted exactly like she thought they would. Still, she finished them for the Marquise’s sake and comforted herself on the fact that her stomach did not seem to want to reject them. When the sky grew dark and more fuel was added to the braziers to make them burn brighter, Celene finally allowed herself to rest on the bench. She sat down as gracefully as always, but this time allowed herself to rest against the back of the bench. Such behavior would be appalling in Val Royeaux, but for the first time, Celene found that she didn’t care.

The elves that were not used to her presence at the estate were wary in the beginning, if not hesitant. But as the night wore on, so did the festivities and soon enough everyone was content to enjoy themselves. Briala touched her arm gently, and Celene turned to find the elf holding a goblet. Celene took it and smelled the wine. She wasn’t one for wine normally, but this did not seem like the place for tea. So she took a small sip and fought back a grimace at the bitterness. Briala had a goblet of her own and she nursed it easily, always more partial to the drink than Celene.

“Enjoying yourself, your majesty?” Briala asked after a moment. A brazier had been lit near her and the warmth of it couple with the wine made her drowsy.

Celene was busy watching Prudence stir fireflies from the grass, bounding through and rolling around as the children squealed in glee and tried to catch them. “Quite,” she said finally. “Though I imagine the festival is winding down now.”

“Hardly, your majesty,” came a voice from her left.

Celene turned and made out Variel. He still wore the cloak but his hood was down and underneath it he had a nice looking tunic and breeches. It was the nicest she’d ever seen him, and her smile came easily as she greeted him. He bowed before her and crouched next to her near the bench.

“The real party starts at night. That’s when the real dancing begins and the children make firefly lanterns before bed…wine, admittedly flows a bit more. But it’s all in good fun.” He chuckled somewhat nervously, his hand going to the back of his head. Then he stood and made his way in front of the Empress, eyeing both her and Briala warily.

He cleared his throat before speaking. “I know, that, well…tradition dictates that the head of state is supposed to dance with the honored guest first, right? But…” he eyed Briala, “this isn’t exactly traditional. And I don’t know what’s done when it’s a woman lord or lady or…whatever.”

“Usually the next highest ranking male does the honors,” Briala said, enjoying watching Variel squirm under their gazes. She smiled at him but it only made him more nervous and he turned his eyes on Celene.

“I…don’t know who that is, admittedly. But if, if you’re willing, majesty, I’d be happy to do the honors.”

He looked at his hand, then extended it. Celene watched as he fought to meet her eyes, then turned his head to hide his scar. She shared a look with Briala, who shrugged, and took his hand.

“You flatter me,” she said into his wide eyes.

She ended up being the one to lead him to the center of the square where others were dancing. A few steps in and the both of them realized that Variel wasn’t a dancer. His timing was off, his steps too harsh, and his movements just a little too exuberant.

Briala watched, rapt, as Celene tried to keep up with Variel’s unpredictable moves. At first Celene seemed embarrassed at having such a poor partner. But then Variel spoke to her, and Briala watched the Empress laugh. She was too far away to hear it, but Briala knew it was sincere. It was the laugh Celene only made in the late night of her bedchamber, only for Briala. But now the elf realized that it was the laugh Celene gave when she was herself. Not the Empress of Orlais, not the Lioness. Just Celene, who liked to read and drink tea and have debates for fun. Briala hadn’t seen so much of this side of her in years. And though she was happy for her, she couldn’t help but wish she could partake as well.

The smile never left Celene’s face and Briala didn’t realize that she herself was smiling until someone plopped next to her. Briala turned and relaxed as she caught sight—and smell—of Dirge. He had a goblet of his own, filled with something stronger than wine, and he dipped it at the Marquise. She toasted him back and they drank.

“Dirge,” she greeted as she set down her goblet. “I trust you’re sober enough to make it home tonight?”

He chuckled. “I am fine, my lady. Never thought I’d see something like that,” he finished, dipping his cup towards Celene and Variel.

“An Empress and an elf?”

“No. Her lookin’ like she belonged. Not so high brow and spoiled as she claims, is she?”

Briala laughed quietly to herself. “Oh, yes she is. But you’re right. She looks…happy.”

“Suppose that won’t be the case when this war comes crashing on our heads. But…even snooty Empresses deserve a break every once in a while. Oh, relax,” he said, waving his hand to try and rid Briala of her glare. “I don’t have to like her to keep her alive. Or you for that matter.”

“And what a shame it is that you do.”

He snorted, then stood as Celene and Variel finished their dance. Dipping his head to Briala, he disappeared back into the crowd. Celene was breathing heavily as she returned, her cheeks flushed from her efforts. She sat down again and graciously accepted the wine offered.

“Thank you, Variel,” she said after her drink, “for the  _worst_  dance of my life.”

Variel tensed at first, his eyes hurt before he saw Celene smiling. Then beamed at her and bowed low. Then he lifted his head and extended his hand again to Celene.

“Allow me to refill your wine. It’s the least I can do.”

She gave it to him and the two watched as he disappeared. Briala watched Celene’s breathing even before she dug into a pocket of her dress. She touched Celene’s arm and extended it to her with a shrug.

“I got you something.”

It was a wooden square, small enough to fit in the palm of Celene’s hand. She turned it over and saw that the other side was cut into fifteen numbered pieces with one additional space. She slid the one marked ‘15’ over and began to move the others around, trying to order the numbers numerically.

“I know you like puzzles,” Briala commented as she watched her.

The Empress toyed with it for a few seconds more, managing to get the top two rows in order before she turned to Briala and smiled. “I do. Thank you. This is beautiful.”

“I planned to surprise you with it when I returned tonight. Well…I planned to appease you with it after angering you by bringing home candied nuts.”

“Sounds like quite an elaborate plan,” Celene said easily, turning back to her puzzle.

“You’re worth it.”

Celene stopped and Briala swallowed as the Empress looked her over. Celene’s expression was unreadable in the darkness. Briala felt her fingers tensing, muscles tightening to reach out and halt Celene should she try to run away again.

Then she felt Celene’s hand upon hers. She gave a single, gentle squeeze, and pulled it away to return to her puzzle. Briala let out the breath she’d been holding and allowed herself to relax against the bench, letting her head fall back. It was a start.

Celene jumped slightly when she felt Briala’s head against her shoulder. She looked over, fully prepared to give Briala a most appalled look when she realized the elf was asleep. Celene frowned. It was slightly more innocent, at least, but still it could not be tolerated. She leaned back and dropped the puzzle in her lap. Then she gently took Briala’s head in her hands and adjusted her until she was comfortable enough and off of her shoulder. Briala didn’t so much as stir at her touch. It was worrisome to Celene, who knew for a fact just how light a sleeper Briala was. She must have been deathly exhausted for the movements not to wake her. Celene made to reach out and clear the hair from her face, but stopped herself, reaching back instead for her puzzle.

“Glad she’s finally getting a rest,” Variel murmured as he returned with the wine. “She’s had trouble sleeping lately. Terrible way for this war to take toll.”

Celene looked to Briala. She was always beautiful, always captivating. Even with her dark hair splayed over her face and her body slumped. She suppressed a soft smile and forced herself to look away.

“Indeed it is.”

She and Variel talked quietly until the festival began to die down. As Celene stood and smoothed out her dress, Variel woke Briala, who immediately glared at the both of them as she tried to blink the sleep from her eyes. Celene was used to such glares, but Variel cowered slightly beneath her gaze, prompting Briala touch him gently on the shoulder.

As they made their way to the horses, Briala, still sleepy, reached for Celene’s hand. Celene felt the warmth of Briala’s skin and for a moment she almost allowed her to take it. Then she remembered the many eyes on them and pulled her hand out of reach. Briala winced at the action and shook her head at herself. They were no longer in the Eluvians where love and nobility didn’t matter. But for the first time, Briala found that she missed them. She looked to Celene with apologetic eyes, prepared to say whatever Celene needed to be pacified. Words failed, however, when Celene smiled at her.

“I completed the puzzle,” Celene said, turning back to face the road.

Briala smiled softly to herself. It would have to do for now.

“Wonderful. Now do it backwards.”

“ _Merde_.”

The sound of Briala's laugh echoing through the woods almost made letting go of her hand worth it. 


	30. Chapter 30

It had been a few days since the festival, and subsequently a few days since Briala was plagued with seemingly sleepless nights. She didn’t know if it was the festival itself, her reconnection with Celene, or just timing that made her sleep well at night, but she wasn’t one to object. She rose early, feeling refreshed, and decided to give her protesting muscles the workout they had been longing for. Donning a simple tunic, breeches, and boots, she strode down the hall easily as she worked her dagger belt into place.

Most grand Orlesian estates had more or less the same layout, and this manor was no different. When Briala first arrived, it didn’t take long for her to make her way to the basement and find a storage room adequate enough to train in. She’d placed a few dummies in there along with a target for her archery and before the sleepless nights struck her, she could be found down there every morning, training until she could no longer lift a blade.

An elven woman crossed her path as she left the kitchens, a tray of steaming buns drizzled with honey in her hand. She stopped short and smiled at Briala, dipping her head and relaxing when she saw the Marquise return it. Briala felt a twinge of guilt at that. Though she hadn’t particularly felt it, her expressions rendered from her lack of sleep gave her a somewhat unapproachable look. At the time she was thankful for the silence that the household tried to offer her, but now she felt remorse at having intimidated them. In a gesture of goodwill she bid the woman good morning and reached for a bun. The woman nodded effusively and extended the tray to her. Briala took one, then two, and finally dared a third before excusing herself and making her way to the basement.

Her first bun was finished by the time she reached the base of the stairs. As she licked traces of honey from her fingers, Briala realized she was not alone. The door to her training room was open and she could hear the sounds of someone working inside. Soft steps on the floor, the occasional breath or grunt of exertion. Curious, Briala stepped quietly to the door and peered inside.

Funnily enough, the first thing she saw was Celene’s enchanted teapot resting next to a cup and saucer on a barrel. Lying next to the barrel was Prudence, always at the Empress’ side, it seemed. She smiled briefly at the dog, who gave her only a passing glance, then turned to watch the Empress. Celene was in identical clothing to Briala’s, albeit of a finer quality, and her hair was pulled back in a loose, fat braid. She was practicing  _The Butterfly_ , the same set of moves Briala corrected her on in the woods while Celene hid from Gaspard. This time, however, she was not off on the second strike, and Briala allowed herself just a moment to watch her Empress move. Celene was always graceful, though the ferocity with which she stabbed always surprised the elf. Likely it surprised her opponents, too, giving her the advantage.

Knowing that Celene would be uncomfortable with her lingering, Briala turned to go, deciding it better to wait upstairs until Celene was done. She’d only just gotten a half step past the door when she heard Prudence bark. Celene questioned the dog, and knowing that the Empress would be fearful of spies, Briala stepped back and peered inside. Celene stood tall with her daggers at her side, breathing heavily. Her face was flushed, shining with sweat, and she tilted her head to the side as she regarded the elf.

Briala gestured to the hallway with the bun still in her hand. “I was just…going to wait upstairs,” she offered weakly, even though it was the truth. It was awkward having to watch herself around Celene, as if they were teenagers sneaking around from their parents. Then again, that wasn’t as far-fetched from the truth as it seemed.

Celene breathed twice more and swallowed, eyes drifting curiously to the buns in Briala’s hands. Then her eyes rose to study Briala’s tunic and the fine shade of her neck before resting on her face. Briala’s eyes were bright, alert, and no longer rimmed with tired blackness. She looked good, albeit wary. And though Celene felt guilty that Briala had to behave this way around her, neither could she ignore her own feelings and sacrifice her empire.

Still, she dipped her head in polite greeting to the Marquise. “You may stay, provided the door is kept open. I’m finished.”

Briala pursed her lips, unsure. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Celene gestured to her flushed face with a tired smile. “I’m not.”

Briala kept her place in the doorway and watched as Celene sheathed her daggers before stretching her back, arms and legs. “How did you know about this place?”

“Variel told me about it when I mentioned desiring a place to train,” Celene answered with a grimace as she stretched out her leg. “I’ve been using it for the past few days.” She turned and looked at Briala, eyes stern. “I apologize if I’ve overstepped my welcome.”

Briala shook her head. “Not at all, your majesty. You’re welcome to it anytime.”

Celene’s eyebrow rose incredulously as she went over to her enchanted teapot and filled her cup. Prudence looked at her endearingly and Briala was surprised to see the Empress reach out and pet the dog on the head a few times. Satisfied, Prudence laid back down and watched the buns in Briala’s hands lazily.

“Really? Because it seems I’ve interrupted you,” Celene said as she turned, teacup to her lips.

Briala marveled at the fact that Celene could still look as imposing as ever even with sweaty, frazzled hair and a reddened face. She lifted one of the buns in her hand in offering to Celene, and tossed it over when the Empress nodded. Celene caught it with her free hand, the teacup not so much as shifting in her other.

“I haven’t been training much. I’m glad the room has its uses for someone else. Your chevalier may use it as well, if she feels the need.”

“Thank you, Marquise. You are too kind.”

Celene picked a small piece off of her bun and placed it in her mouth. Prudence lifted her head toward the Empress, a low whine seeping out. Celene shook her head absently, as if she wasn’t aware she was conversing with a dog. Prudence whined again but turned her head away. She looked at Briala and tilted it to the side, making her way over with something akin to a smile on her face. Briala frowned as the dog neared, her tension easing only when she realized that Celene was watching her as well. Prudence stuck her nose in the air, sniffing excessively at the bun in the elf’s hand. She sat in front of Briala, short tail wagging, and looked up at her with what Briala assumed were persuasive eyes.

She smirked to herself, wondering if Prudence had perfected this trick on Celene, and just how amenable the Empress was to the dog when no one was watching. The trick most certainly didn’t work on her. She wasn’t the biggest fan of animals in general. But the dog was Celene’s, so she ripped her bun in half and tossed it to her. Prudence caught the bun in the air, swallowing it whole with a wet smack that made both the elf and Empress cringe. Satisfied, Prudence trotted herself back to the Empress and sat by her side.

Celene hummed softly, brow furrowed in contemplation. “She appears to bear you no more ill will.”

“That or she’s better at the Game than either of us.”

Celene did not smile at the joke and kept her eyes on Prudence. “I think she knew what you meant to do in Jader. To some extent, anyway.”

“A dog that senses treachery? I would have liked to have had one of those.” Briala pursed her lips. How would things have changed if there’d been a growling dog all those years ago in the reading room? Briala didn’t particularly want to think about it. She saw the Empress’ face fall at her words and realized all too late the impact of her words.

“Majesty, forgive me, I—

Celene held up a hand. “There is nothing to forgive. You are right. It would have saved you a lifetime. Where would you be now, I wonder, if I hadn’t been such a coward?”

Where would she be? Would she have killed Celene that night, if the Empress told her she’d murdered her parents? Would she have exposed her plan to assassinate Florian to the court? Would she have hung her head quietly and dutifully, waiting for the right time to strike? Or would she have simply run away? Celene appeared to be thinking the same thing, for she gave a soft smile, eyes cast to the floor.

“I can’t see you farming or bartering. Perhaps a leader of some sorts among the city elves. With a pretty elven wife to wake up to in the morning. One who told you no lies.”

“There was only you, Celene,” Briala said quickly, her voice suddenly weak. “Those six years apart…there was only you.”

“But would that have been the case if you knew the truth?” Celene asked just as quietly.

Briala knew she wasn’t expecting an answer. Likely she was expecting Briala to stalk off or change the subject. But instead the elf stepped closer. She kept her distance respectful, but was close enough to get the Empress to lift her head.

“It’s still only you,” Briala said with a shake of her head. She could scarcely believe it herself. “Since I sent you back to Halamshiral, made an army of elves, became Marquise, built a life for myself outside of your bedchambers…it’s still only you.”

Celene sighed at that. She wanted to apologize, to throw herself at Briala’s feet. She wanted Briala to be done with her. Because at least then, with the knowledge that her beloved had moved on, so could she move on with her life. Even if her heart never truly healed. Her eyes flickered to the elf’s, and there was only one thing she could bring herself to say.

“It’s always been you, too. When I sent you away…I knew that was it. It was selfish of me, I know. Disgusting when I think back on it now. To kiss you while you stood in your parents’ blood. But I thought I was losing you forever. I thought I already had lost you.” Celene blinked a few times, pushing back her tears.

“Did you love me then?” Briala asked after a moment. “That night in the reading room, did you love me?”

“As much as I knew how, yes.”

“And you must have loved my parents. They cared for you since you were born.”

“Yes.”

“Then how, Celene? How could you…. I’ve thought about that night a lot. And I can’t understand why you didn’t kill me that night? It would have been so much easier. And we both knew you were capable. Why go through so much trouble to kill me, only to send me away when you had the chance? Why…”

Briala drifted to keep her voice from cracking. She swallowed hard and listened to Celene’s even breathing in front of her.

“I…didn’t know it would be carried out that night,” Celene said after a pause. “I thought I would have time to hide you or…I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t understand what I’d done until I stepped inside that silent house. I was so scared of Mantillon; I feared for my life. It was…it was just selfish, Bria. I can explain it no better.” Celene dipped her head and extended the rest of her bun to the dog, who took it gently from her fingers.

Slowly, Briala reached a hand out. She watched Celene’s eyes fall upon it, and looked for any signs of disapproval as she moved forward. It reached the Empress’ arm and Briala ran her thumb consolingly along Celene’s bicep.

“Valuing your own life is not selfish,” she said finally. “It is survival.”

“But at what cost?”

Celene took a step back, and Briala let her hand fall. They were silent for a few moments before Celene took a deep breath. Briala watched her back straighten, and was unsurprised when Celene spoke in the voice of the Empress.

“The Inquisition arrives today. I plan to be at the camp when they arrive. I assume you’ll be there as well, Marquise?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Very well. I will see you then. Enjoy your training.”

Briala kept her head dipped in a polite bow. As the Empress passed, Briala thought she felt the ghost of her touch on her shoulder. But by the time she rose, Celene was gone, the sound of Prudence’s panting following her down the hall.

 

* * *

 

The Inquisition arrived at the camp at dusk. Waiting atop her courser with her champion and general at her side, Celene heard them long before she saw them and surmised that the troops would be massive. Commander Cullen passed along reports of the size of their forces, but even still the Empress had to admit she was impressed, if not a little intimidated. Humans, elves, dwarves, qunari, mages all marched alongside the Inquisitor. Some held sword and shield as if they were born with it while others carried it with the extreme precision of the newly learned. While they should have looked like a ragtag bunch, they walked with precision, heads held high and forward. Commander Cullen, who rode beside his troops, must have been an impressive instructor indeed.

Trevelyan rode at the front of the crowed on a massive armored charger. To her left sat Josephine Montilyet, dressed for a brisk hike through the woods, maybe, but certainly not for battle. On her right was Sister Nightingale, or Leliana, as Celene had earned. The Spymaster’s hood was drawn up, casting part of her face in shadow. And she looked no more intimidating in a chainmail dress than she did in formalwear. Behind the three but before the troops were what Celene could only assume was Trevelyan’s personal accompaniment of soldiers. She recognized a few of them from the Winter Ball, as well as Lady Vivienne. But the massive qunari was surprising, as well as the elf who looked to have had her hair cut by a dragon. Celene thought that the Inquisitor traveled with another elf as well, but if she did he was nowhere to be found. She knew the dwarf to be Varric Tethras, and the memory of  _Swords and Shields_  made the smile come easily to her face.

When she was near enough to the Empress, Trevelyan jumped off of her horse and bowed deeply. “Your Imperial Majesty,” she greeted. “We are honored to have you greet the Inquisition personally. The Lioness is most certainly a good omen for the coming battle.”

The chevaliers behind Celene straightened just a bit taller, filled with pride at Trevelyan’s words. Celene would have to thank her in private later. But for the moment she lifted her hand and smiled confidently down at the Inquisitor.

“It is an honor to fight with those who seek to destroy a threat upon all of Thedas. Orlais welcomes you, Inquisitor. And we look forward to the incoming, victorious battle.”

Trevelyan smiled and Celene dismounted gracefully, taking the Inquisitor’s arm. While soldiers got acquainted and oriented, Celene, Adele, Briala, and the general made their way into the general’s tent. The Inquisitor and her advisors joined as well and listened patiently to General Barbeau’s reports. Then they began to plan together. For the most part, Celene remained reticent. Partly in a show of support and respect to the Inquisition, and partly because she still didn’t feel herself quite as adequate as she should be in terms of war.

“The Marquise’s forces are appreciated,” Cullen said kindly, flashing a soft smile to Briala. “But they have suffered great hardship to be here. The Dales is their new home, and I would not see it destroyed. Since they’re suited for guerilla tactics, it would be best to situate them on the edge of the Arbor Wilds, a final defense in case we fail.”

Briala nodded. It was a realistic, inoffensive idea and would certainly make those at her estate and living in her lands feel safer.

“Queen Anora has placed troops west of Lake Calenhad. Should the worst befall us, they can cross the Frostbacks and come to aid within a few days. Lady Seryl and the surrounding Lords have also been notified,” Barbeau grunted. “We will not fall here. But if we do, they don’t stand a demon’s chance at a tranquil for winning.”

Trevelyan pointed to the map on the table, the elven ruin that seemed to hold Corypheus’ attention. “I will make my way there with Cassandra, Solas, Morrigan, and Cole. That leaves the rest of my companions at your disposal, general. I suggest spacing them out as necessary.”

When he finished placing Trevelyan’s companions, Barbeau lifted his head and looked to Celene. “Your majesty, if it pleases you, the west side is crucial to holding the tide of battle. If it falls, this camp, and perhaps the Dales will be overrun. However it is highly defensible. I would see you positioned there, if you’re willing.”

If Celene had any concerns about the general’s placement of her, the table gave her all the answers she needed. Next to her, Briala tensed just slightly, imperceptible by most. Cullen and Leliana frowned pensively while Josephine shook her head.

“Corypheus has been seen on the front lines, your majesty,” she all but pleaded. “Would you not consider moving further from the front line?”

Her concern was comforting, if nothing else. From what she knew, the general placed her in the safest place he could on the front lines. It was likely she would not see battle, but no one could say that the Empress was anti-military after this, no matter where her opinions really were. Celene smiled. “Dear Lady Montilyet, we cannot send our subjects where we ourselves fear to tread. What say you, champion?”

Adele, as she had to be in public, was confident as she said, “A worthy position, your majesty. One of honor and courage.”

“Then it is settled.”

“Very well, your majesty,” Barbeau said with a nod. “We will begin a few hours after dawn. The sun will be to our advantage then.”

Trevelyan smiled and for the first time Celene caught sight of the Inquisitor of legend. The feared, mythical woman who was to smite down a god and may even be a god herself. Celene felt a tingle of adrenaline race down her spine as Trevelyan spoke.

“It is time to take back Thedas. If it’s the Maker Corypheus wishes to see, I’ll be sure to send him there personally.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potentially graphic depictions of war violence in this chapter.

Adele looked different in her armor, larger, imposing, and murderous. Being Celene’s champion, she was fitted with the finest silverite coin could buy. It looked and sounded like shattering glass, but one touch made it clear just how indestructible she was. Even her kind, golden eyes seemed darkened by the sheen of the metal on the chevalier. A calculating coldness lingered behind them as she thought of the day’s battle.

Jenara tightened the last strap into place with pursed lips and dropped her hands to her side. Adele lifted her arms and twisted her torso, testing the feel, and smiled down at the elf. Celene allowed Jenara to be at the forward camp before the battle, but she was to be escorted back to the estate once the Empress and her chevalier were prepared. Having already gotten Celene into her armor and plaited her hair so that it would not obstruct her eyes or helmet, Jenara made her way to Adele’s tent to ready her champion.

“Are you ready to speak to me now?” Adele asked quietly.

Jenara looked away, her ear fluttering as she chewed on her bottom lip. Adele stepped forward, her armor groaning with the effort, and placed her hand on the elf’s shoulder. Jenara glanced at her hand and sighed.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you about archery.”

Adele gave a soft smile. “I deserved it. I’m a poor teacher.”

Jenara shook her head as her eyes lingered on Adele’s sword. It was immaculate, not a nick or lack of luster to be seen. Her shield, however, held its fair share of dents and scratches, and it glinted dully inside of the tent as it rested on Adele’s bed. The elf turned and made her way over to it. She drummed on it with her fingers but found no comfort in its sturdiness. Adele watched her, studied the trembling of her ear, the pallor of her cheeks, the way she didn’t seem to trust herself to unclench her tiny fists.

“Everything will be fine, Jenara.”

Adele watched as Jenara flinched at her words and shook her head again. “Do not make promises you can’t keep, chevalier.”

“We’re back to ‘chevalier’ now, are we?”

Jenara’s breath grew heavy. Tears pressed at her eyes and she was quick to blink them away. She knew that Celene’s soldiers were loyal to the cause. She knew that Anora and Ferelden stood ready to aid should it be required. She knew that Adele was one of the best chevaliers in Orlais. She knew that Celene would be protected. But she didn’t know the thoughts of every single enemy in the field. She didn’t know what Corypheus wanted. She didn’t know if the Inquisitor was a godsend or a god herself. And that made even the dull shine of the shield hard to look at.

Adele stepped closer. Jenara could feel her presence behind her and leaned back against her. Where she expected a warm, strong body, she was met with cold metal and quickly pulled away.

“I told myself I wouldn’t do this,” Jenara whispered. “I told myself I wouldn’t….”

Adele hushed her and moved her shield to the floor. Taking Jenara’s hands gently in hers, she sat her down on the bed and joined her. Jenara’s hands were warm through her gloves and she brought them to her lips, kissing her fingers. Jenara pulled her hands away and balled them up in her lap.

“How can you be so calm?” she asked at Adele’s concerned expression. Her voice trembled in the air and hung between them.

Still so young, Adele thought. Jenara put up a good front. She was clever and resourceful and wise beyond her years. But her years were still few. Adele wasn’t much older, but she was experienced in battle. It was not for the faint of heart and not for some of the strongest hearts. Adele was scared, of course. Only a fool would not be. She also knew what Jenara knew. That Celene held a personal grudge for her actions at Halamshiral. They had both seen the intensity in the Empress’ eyes, the fire that burned beneath her. She wanted retribution for the soldiers who were killed because of her lack of military knowledge, for those who died to keep her alive. She wanted retribution for herself. Both spymaster and chevalier knew that the Empress would not find what she desired on the battlefield, but they also knew that Celene could not be swayed.

“Fighting is what I do,” Adele answered finally, her armor heaving as she gave a sigh. “It’s what I’m good at. Besides, if you’re not going to be the calm one, the task falls to me.”

Jenara closed her eyes tightly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Adele started to say that she wouldn’t, but stopped short. After all, she could not promise such a thing. It was likely that she could die today. Though she could normally repress such depressing thoughts until after a battle, she could not bring herself to lie to the elf. Instead, she reached out gently and touched Jenara’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to lose you either.” At Jenara’s silence, she added. “May I promise to try my best to return to you?”

A single tear fell down Jenara’s cheek as she nodded. Adele smiled and pulled her closer, pressing her lips to the top of her head. “I promise that I will do everything within my power to return to you unharmed.”

Adele’s chest ached at the sight of her love in such a state. Reddened eyes, a heaving chest, the steely stare at the floor. She swallowed the ball that was forming in her own throat and held her tightly.

“Please don’t cry. It’s hard enough leaving you.”

Jenara turned into Adele’s chest. Her arms came around her neck as she pushed herself up. Reddened, stormy eyes met hers and Adele felt her fingers tensing on the back of her neck.

“I love you,” Jenara said with more confidence than her appearance suggested.

It was the first time she’d said it, and despite the perilous situation, Adele knew that she meant it. She knew that Jenara felt the same way for a long time, and was willing to wait forever to hear those words. Still, she didn’t think it would make her heart race as it did.

“I love you, too,” she said before meeting Jenara’s lips.

They kissed slowly, Jenara clinging tightly to her chevalier. Jenara pulled away first but kept their lips just brushing as she caught her breath. She couldn’t yet bring herself to let Adele go. When Adele finally had to reach up and gently pull her arms from her neck, they were rigid, strong from her recent training, and resisted. But they were no match for the chevalier. Adele closed her fingers around Jenara’s small hands and held them to her chest.

“Promise me you’ll stay at the estate,” she murmured at their closeness, reaching out to give the elf a chaste kiss. “ _Please._ I fight harder knowing I’ll return to you. And I’d like you to be there when I do. 

Eyes still closed from their kiss, Jenara pursed her lips. There was a breath of silence between them before the elf nodded. “I promise,” she whispered. She embraced Adele again and squeezed until her arms ached and the cold hardness of her armor sunk deeply within her chest.

 

* * *

 

Briala woke early that morning to the sound of marching metal and hoof beats. She dressed quickly in elven armor made by an elven smith. It wasn’t drakeskin, but it was finely made and well-tailored to her body. She ran her fingers along her ironbark bow, which she commissioned as soon as she was certain of imminent war, and tested its draw length. It was perfect, as it had been the past twenty times she checked it. Her wrist wavered as she pulled and Briala grimaced, forcing her hand to steady. She would be useless on the front lines; her wrist was too unpredictable. But she could snipe from the trees to give soldiers an advantage.

Stepping out into the camp, she was greeted with a surprisingly upbeat sight. Soldiers marched confidently, chatted easily over breakfast, and smiled into their polished armor. She expected intensity, a certain drive. And while that still rested within them, confidence in their Empire had lifted their spirits. She wondered if Celene had seen them yet, and the thought of the Empress’ expression as she gazed upon the men and women that had such hope in her brought a smile to her face.

Yet it did not entirely quell the trepidation within her breast. She was no stranger to battle but she wasn’t used to actively seeking it out. She prepared for it, defended against it, but never charged headfirst into her potential death. Swallowing hard, she made her way in the direction of Celene’s tent, hoping to find the Empress as well as the general and Inquisitor.

It was easy to tell when she was drawing near by the thinning of troops. After a few more steps she could see the general and the Inquisitor along with her advisors grouped together over yet another map. She smirked to herself and returned the Inquisitor’s polite wave as she stepped forward.

“Marquise,” she greeted, placing her hand on Briala’s shoulder. “How do you fare this morning?”

Briala opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by a peal of laughter. She turned, along with the rest of the group, to see a scruffy, blonde elf riding on the shoulders of the largest qunari she’d ever seen. He rampaged playfully through a group of soldiers, pretending to gore them with his horns or swing an imaginary battle axe. The elf, meanwhile, balanced herself on top of him and pretended to shoot arrows from her advantageous perch.

Briala scoffed in spite of herself at the sight and saw the Inquisitor’s smile from her peripheral. “I know it seems odd,” Trevelyan said after a moment, “but it’s actually been quite beneficial.”

“I suppose I will take your word for it. Is Lady Morrigan not within your company?”

“She is. I believe she’s having a private word with the Empress.” Trevelyan frowned, scanning the soldiers around her. “I believe you’re familiar with everyone else from Halamshiral. Lady Vivienne, of course,” she said as she pointed to the beautiful but unimpressed looking mage who lounged against a table. “Varric’s just there, Cole is…somewhere and Solas is…somewhere else. I suppose it matters not since they’re both coming with me, but I can find them if you wish.”

“Very kind of you, Inquisitor, but I trust your judgment on your colleagues, even if their methods are…somewhat unorthodox.”

“It’s gotten us this far.” Trevelyan smiled again, her confidence a relief to the tense elf. “Are you returning to defend your estate?”

“No, my own colleague, Dirge, is managing there. I will help here as best I can.”

“We are the better for it.”

“You flatter me, Inquisitor.”

They grinned briefly at each other before returning to their discussion of tactics. It was all just a refresher from last night, and Briala busied herself by watching Prudence interact with the soldiers just down the way. She was the only mabari here, and appeared to have been militarily trained in Ferelden, given the way she disarmed an archer. The men danced around her, playfully sparring as they tested the mettle of the famed Ferelden hounds. The soldiers, like Briala, seemed impressed.

“Your Radiance,” the general greeted with a bow, breaking Briala from her thoughts.

Briala turned and caught sight of Celene as she neared the group. She was dressed in armor, but not the gleaming, ceremonial silverite that Briala was used to. Instead, she looked rather like she did in the Eluvians, albeit with better armor. It was leather, drakeskin no doubt, and a deep blue shade. Tailored beautifully to her form, it looked more like a second skin than armor, and moved easily with her. Silver trimmings glistened in the sun, making her stand out even without the roaring lion on her chest or back. The handles of the pristine daggers at her hips shimmered. She held her helmet easily in her arm and nodded as she arrived with Morrigan and Adele by her side.

“General, Inquisitor,” Celene greeted.

Briala felt herself shiver at the voice of the Empress. She wasn’t wearing a mask, but her face was carved of stone just the same. She seemed confident, calm, ready for the battle ahead. Briala glanced to her forehead, just making out the scar near her hairline. She thought back to the night the Sylvans attacked. Celene pale and limp in Michel’s arms, blood caked into her hair and face. Briala had been ready to sacrifice herself for Celene’s survival that night. And looking at her now, she realized she was willing to do the very same all over again. Her chest ached in fear but she stood tall as the Empress was briefed on the proceedings.

“Very well,” Celene said once the briefing finished. “All that’s left to do is wait for your order, general.”

“Yes, your radiance. I will give it shortly.”

The group broke apart, each person going to their respective positions. Briala stayed behind and locked her eyes with Celene. The Empress studied her for a moment, then made her way over.

“Your majesty,” Briala said with a bow as she neared. “Might I have a word? In as much privacy as you feel comfortable?”

Celene looked back to Adele and nodded before she escorted Briala into her tent. By Celene’s order, the tent was no more luxurious than any other soldier’s, and Celene had to dip her head just a bit to keep it from brushing against the tarp. Briala heard Adele enter behind them and pull the opening closed. As alone as she could be, Celene sighed and sat down on her cot, inviting Briala to sit beside her.

“Are you ready, Marquise?” she asked, her eyes delving to study Briala’s elven armor.

“Can anyone truly be ready for war?” Briala asked quietly. In the muted light of the tent, Celene looked at peace, beautiful as always. But still Briala couldn’t bring her eyes from the scar on her head or the memories of their battles through the Eluvians. Celene should have been dead several times over. And yet she kept going, almost entirely without complaint, to risk it all again the next day. Briala’s breath caught in her throat and she stifled a cough.

Celene smiled next to her. “I certainly feel more prepared than the last war,” she said, referring to Gaspard’s surprise coup at Halamshiral.

Briala snorted and hung her head. “I could have warned you in Halamshiral.”

Celene shook her head slightly in Briala’s peripheral. “I’m not sure I would have believed you. It doesn’t matter now.”

“It does, I think. If I had warned you, you could have been back in Val Royeaux sooner. Gaspard would have been defeated. Orlais wouldn’t have been weakened by the civil war. You wouldn’t have to—

“You deserved to know,” Celene murmured, looking down at her boots. “You deserved to know the truth about your parents, to make your own decisions, walk your own path. For your sake, Briala, I do not regret any of it.”

Briala sighed. Before all of this, she would have been angry at Celene’s words and demanded repentance for the burning of the elves in Halamshiral. But her anger had tempered significantly these past few months. Halamshiral was still painful, but she was calm enough now to realize that the Empress was sorry for their deaths, even if she truly saw no other way. In the same manner she knew Celene was sorry for the deaths of her parents. Briala had forgiven her for that, too, even if Celene would never forgive herself.

She stood and Celene rose with her. Briala swallowed and glanced back at Adele before stepping closer. Celene frowned but did not back away, instead choosing to search Briala’s eyes for answers.

“We may die today, Celene,” she said softly, clenching her fists to keep them at her sides. “And in case that happens, I need you to know that I forgive you. For everything—no don’t,” she chastised kindly as Celene opened her mouth to retort. “It must be said. Even if you don’t love me anymore, just know that I forgive you. And I _love you_.” She smiled softly, losing herself for a moment in a memory. “You are my best friend, my greatest treasure.”

Celene glanced at Adele from over Briala’s shoulder. The chevalier stared straight ahead, her expression unreadable as if she hadn’t heard a thing. A small pouch rested against Celene’s hip, and she placed her hand to it comfortingly. The Empress smiled sadly as she returned to Briala’s eyes. “Oh, Bria,” she murmured at their closeness. “It was never about love. That will always be there. 

She wanted to tell Briala that she loved her. But to say it sounded too much like a goodbye, an idea that Celene couldn’t bring herself to entertain. The best she could do was bring herself to say it in so many words, hiding behind masks and games as she always did. But she did dare to reach out and pull Briala into her arms, hugging her fiercely tight. Briala held her back just as tightly before they let go. Celene watched as Briala collected herself and returned to the indomitable woman that Celene fell in love with. And she knew they were going to win. 

 

* * *

 

 

Celene sat atop her white mare that looked more ceremonial than she did its gilded armoring. Adele sat by her side, straight as an arrow, listening to the battle that waged on in the distance. Celene could hear it, too, though it sounded far away. The battalion of chevaliers and Inquisition troops in front of Celene listened as well, heads slightly turned as they awaited an ambush. An ambush that might never come, Celene thought to herself. If the good men and women here never had to lift a blade again, it would be too soon. Still, a small part of her had felt a certain bloodlust for the upcoming fight, and that part now felt let down.

Sensing Celene’s disappointment, Adele leaned over in her saddle and flashed her a confident smile. “We are the defense, your majesty. It is a good thing when we’re not being utilized.”

“Of course, Adele,” Celene said as she returned the smile. “I relish any chance we have to not spill more Orlesian blood.”

The helmet rested heavily on Celene’s head, and was stifling hot. But at least her armor was lighter and easier to move in. She adjusted slightly in her saddle and looked down to ensure that Prudence was still by her side. The dog sat proudly next to her horse, eyes straight ahead though her left ear was turned towards the sound of battle. Briefly Celene wondered if all mabari were trained in war or if it was a natural trait. She could hardly stand to believe that Anora would give Celene a trained war hound. It seemed counterintuitive in terms of the Game. But she had seen Prudence sparring with the soldiers that morning as she chatted with Morrigan. Even the facetious enchantress had to admit that the dog was a force to be reckoned with.

“And what of our spymaster?” Celene asked as she looked back towards the chevaliers. “Did she return to the estate?”

“I saw her go,” Adele said simply. “Whether she stayed is anyone’s guess.”

“If I may, champion, she is the only one I would put faith in coming out of this battle unharmed.”

Adele chuckled and reached out to pet the side of Aveline’s neck. “Her twitching ear has been known to stop the Empress of Orlais. What is an incoming battle axe compared to that?”

Celene allowed herself to laugh quietly. She let go of the reins for a moment to place her hands on the grips of her daggers. They were cool and smooth to the touch. She pulled out one blade and watched as the enchanted ring on her finger sent fire coursing along its length. She nodded approvingly at it before removing the fire and sheathing the dagger once more. The other ring she wore, given to her by Lady Mantillon, allowed her see weaknesses, openings, and incoming attacks in battle. As she looked out across the field of overgrown trees her eyes easily found waypoints in between them. The same waypoints they had found over and over again. She placed her hand absently to the pouch at her side and gave a small sigh.

Mistaking her sigh for disappointment at lack of a fight, Adele leaned over again, suddenly serious. “Majesty, it is my job to protect you. You must know, should the battle come here, I will do everything in my power to get you away from it.”

Celene nodded slowly. “I know that. But neither can I run away again while my people are slaughtered. I don’t know how the day will go, my champion, but I cannot promise that I will make it easy for you.”

“Forgive me then, majesty, for saying that I hope our day goes exactly like this.”

Before Celene could answer, the sound of horns pierced the air. Prudence jumped to her feet and barked and Celene watched as the commander at the front of the troops lifted his sword. They were being flanked, and they were officially on the defense. Celene felt her heart race as the troops in front of her began to march. The sounds of battle began to drift closer but she forced her horse to keep pace with Adele. They were at the back for her protection. She could not risk herself to run to the front lines, no matter how right it seemed to do. Celene and the line of soldiers at her side would be the last resort. She only hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

It didn’t take long before they saw the enemy. The chevaliers in front of her broke formation as soon as they appeared, shouting and charging with blade and shield drawn. Celene watched from the back, ever alert as she watched her people engage with monsters she had never dared imagine. Celene saw her fair share of horror in the Eluvians, but reanimated, skeletal corpses were nothing compared to living, breathing monstrosities. Men who wore Templar armor looked to have red stones growing from their skin. Their faces mutilated by consumption, eyes hollow as they attacked without regard. Strange beasts joined them, naked and hunched with shards of the red crystals protruding from their backs like spikes. They jumped around her soldiers and attacked with fangs and claws, howling when they pulled back with blood or a limb.

Off in the distance were creatures that looked to be made entirely of the red crystal. They stood twice as tall as any qunari and lumbered with a heaving, crystalized fist that they used to execute fallen soldiers with. Celene swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and gasped as she felt a hand on her shoulder, lurching her nearly halfway out of her saddle. A shadow was cast over her, and Celene listened to the harsh thud of an arrow deflecting off of Adele’s shield. Archers.

“Majesty, we must move!” Adele shouted as she righted the Empress on her horse.

Celene nodded as she eyed the line of archers that appeared on her left, using the uneven terrain as their advantage as they sniped from hills or trees. Adele turned her horse back in retreat and Celene made to follow until she saw the chevaliers in front of her. They were holding, but not well enough. A few of the creatures and Red Templars were seeping through their line, making their way towards the Empress and her small line of soldiers. If she ran they would make it to the camp. Supplies would be obliterated, wounded killed, and the beasts would begin their march on the Dales next. She could not allow that to happen.

“Celene!” Adele called in hopes of breaking the Empress from her daze. “We must retreat!”

Celene looked to her chevalier and slowly shook her head. “No, Adele. We must fight.”

Before Adele could respond Celene turned her mare and rushed headlong into the fray. Her line of soldiers were already engaged and she picked the first enemy she saw. A Red Templar headed for a chevalier who was already fighting two creatures with his sword drawn. She slammed her mare into him, sending him to the ground as she leapt from her saddle, daggers drawn. Fire danced along the one blade and she struck before he could fully stand, a clean swipe across his neck. Blood pulsed in torrents out of him, staining her armor as he fell.

Celene was about to allow herself to smile at her victory when she heard a heaving grunt behind her. Turning, she barely had time to raise her hands in defense of the blade that swept across her. Her daggers caught the blade and she thrust it away from her. But the Red Templar maintained his balance and came forward again. She crouched to her knees to dodge his blow and lunged forward, sinking her blades into his chest. The chainmail kept them from going in too deeply, but it surprised him enough that she was able to pull one dagger free and thrust it into his exposed armpit. He howled in pain, a horrid, inhuman growl and she sidestepped him as he fell. Once he was on his hands and knees, she jerked his head up and brought her blade across his neck before dropping him to the ground.

Something collided with her back. Celene cradled herself as she fell and ducked into a roll, coming up onto her feet. She felt the wind on her face, her helmet having been ripped off by the clawed creature in front of her. Its nails were longer than her daggers and it hopped back and forth on each foot spasmodically, circling her like a feral animal. The red crystals growing from its back seemed to hum a bizarre, unreachable tune, not unlike the noises she heard in the Eluvians that made her nauseous. Celene changed the grip on her blades as she circled with it. She could see more Red Templars coming close, see the archers lining up their shots, and tightened her grip.

The creature leapt. Celene braced but instead watched as Prudence collided with it from the side. It sent the monster off balance, the two of them tumbling to the ground beside the Empress. Prudence rolled quickly to her feet and stepped in front of Celene. The hair on her back rose in a straight, rigid line, teeth bared. The growl that emitted from the dog’s chest was unlike Celene had ever heard before, more ferocious than the bizarre creature in front of them. The monster returned Prudence’s growl and the two began circling each other, Celene forgotten.

It gave her time to catch her breath. She looked around for her champion and spotted Adele immediately just a few paces from her. The chevalier was battling both a Red Templar and another creature and somehow seemed to be winning. She watched to see if she needed to step in until another enemy came into her sights. Then she turned her daggers and stepped back into the fray.

Celene’s muscles burned. The daggers felt like weights in her hands. Her head was spinning with fatigue. She didn’t know how long they’d been fighting or how many enemies she’d slain. The horde was finally starting to thin, and they were still holding, but they were far from done. Prudence and Adele spent the entire time keeping the majority of enemies off of the Empress. Prudence looked worse for the wear. Blood and drool dripped from her mouth in equal amounts and there was a slight limp to her back leg. Adele looked like she could go well on into the night and more often than not was taking on more than one foe at a time. Celene herself felt like death. She thought she’d gotten herself in good shape after the civil war, but nothing could have prepared her for this. Mindless corpses were no match for trained, seemingly enhanced warriors and their pets. Her adrenaline was spent, chest heaving, but she dodged another attack. She parried the Red Templar’s blade and caught him off balance. She sent her boot into his gut, knocking him onto his back, and used the precious few seconds she had to catch her breath.

She could still see her chevaliers and Inquisition soldiers battling all throughout the area. A few Inquisition mages were here as well, and occasionally throughout the battle Celene felt the tingling chill of a barrier being placed over her. She welcomed it, but knew that others needed it more. The other soldiers didn’t have a mabari and a dedicated champion. They were her barriers. Many of her people lined the ground, though. Misshapen, mangled bodies were scattered throughout the area. Some still screamed and crawled, begging for relief or release from the cruel world. She tried to push the screams of their agony from her mind and into her hands, driving her blades with more force. The Templar in front of her stood and the ring on Celene’s finger allowed her to see clearly. _The Butterfly._

Celene parried his attack and slashed at his wrist, bringing her other blade up to slice across his throat. The cut was shallow, but she stepped in, one blade behind his back and the other on his neck. He didn’t have time to react as she sliced deeper this time, and dropped him. 

He fell at her feet. As his head disappeared from few, another enemy came forward. Celene saw it clearly with her ring, coming right towards her. An arrow, its pointed head glinting in the sun. She could see it, see the way she was supposed to move. But she could also see that it was too late. Celene spun out of the way and felt it slice across her neck. At first she thought she was lucky. The wound wasn’t that deep, nor did the arrow imbed itself in her. Then she felt the blood.

It pumped ceaselessly from her wound, as if the arrow had struck her heart itself. For a moment Celene lost herself, and thought to the fluttering pulse in Briala’s neck that she loved to watch while she slept. Celene brought her hand up to her neck, now slick with blood, and gripped tightly. It pushed through her fingers with each beat of her heart. She couldn’t swallow, and her body was suddenly very cold. She dropped to her knees as her head began to spin, fingers and toes tingling as she fought to keep her grip on her wound. She fell onto her back to keep from falling forward and watched the world spin around her. Her vision blurred and she shivered at the cold, despite being drenched in her own hot blood. A dog barked around her. Metal clashed. Somewhere in the distance someone screamed. And before she closed her eyes and lost herself to the darkness, Celene realized all too late that she should have told Briala she loved her.


	32. Chapter 32

As promised, Briala kept herself to the trees during the battle. Cognizant of her weak wrist as well as her noble title, Briala thought it best to stick with Celene’s regiment. It was the safest for her, the best use of her position in the trees, and allowed her to keep an eye on the Empress as well. From her perch amongst the branches of the tall trees she could make out much of the land, including the shallow ravine Celene and her troops occupied. It was a good choke position. Any enemies would be cut off by the steep sides and bottlenecked into their blades. The trees that lined the ravine were exceedingly thick, far too thick for any troops to travel for an ambush. Archers could make their way through, but that was why she was here. She kept her eyes along the tree line, watching for signs of movement as she listened to the battle that surrounded them.

She could make out another battalion to the east of Celene’s group. They weren’t close enough yet to be a concern, and their troops seemed to be holding them off well. Briala could see strange lights emitting from that battlefield. She saw explosions, lightning, and rushes of a gleaming light that indicated barriers, and was thankful that whatever powerful mage was on that field seemed to be on their side. She turned her attention back to the tree line, her eyes occasionally finding Celene’s white mare in the crowd of soldiers.

She was flanked by her mabari and her champion. And with Briala behind her, she was well protected. Still, Celene had nearly been killed when surrounded by an army of loyal chevaliers in the civil war. If Briala had learned one thing from her experiences before, during and after the civil war, it was that war was unpredictable. She gripped tighter to her bow and scanned the trees again. Horns sounded, and Briala felt her heart racing as the troops in front of Celene began to move. In a moment Briala saw them coming over the horizon. Red Templars and beasts alike showed no fear as they hurled themselves at Celene’s front line. Briala watched intently, arrow nocked, but did not fire. She had a limited supply of arrows. She had to make them last.

Watching the battle from above was a gripping task. She’d fired a few times on enemy archers that lined the ravine but for the most part all she could do was watch as soldiers around her died. There was nothing she could do about the armored men on the ground. Her arrows could do little for the heavy metal of the Red Templars. She found that she could pierce the skin of the strange, red-spiked beasts, but they moved too quickly for her to get consistent shots. The best she could do was take out the archers that used the ravine to her advantage, but even then she was mindful of her arrows. Her wrist, too, was growing weaker with each shot and she grimaced as she rolled it and tried to find Celene.

Sometime during the battle, Celene had left her horse and was now fighting alongside her chevalier and mabari. Briala had to admit that she was doing well. She knew Celene to be a proficient fighter, knew how ruthless she could be with a blade, and that point was only further proven as she watched her take down enemy after enemy. Briala watched as she fought yet another Red Templar when she spotted movement in her peripheral.

Another archer had stepped from between the trees, his bow drawn. She followed his line of sight and felt her throat go dry. She nocked her arrow quickly and drew back. Her wrist wavered, and she grimaced as she aimed, forcing the bow to steady. He was aiming too and would fire any moment. Briala took a deep breath and held it, then fired.

Her shot was just a moment too late. It caught him in the neck just as he’d fired. She’d made him fire just slightly off target, but not enough. Briala’s body tensed, the air leaving her lungs as the arrow seemed to slowly make its way towards Celene. She saw Celene turn, saw her body jerk as the arrow pierced her. She felt bile on the back of her throat as she could see the blood even from her perch, pulsing out of Celene’s neck. She screamed as she fell.

It was the first time Briala had seen her Empress fall in battle. She was spared the sight of seeing Celene knocked unconscious by the Sylvans, and was lucky enough not to have Celene fall as they battled through the Eluvians. She herself had fallen in front of the Empress, when the monstrous varterral fell down upon her, but at the time she’d been too concerned with Celene’s treachery to consider how she felt about watching her lover die. If Celene had felt anything like she did now, Briala felt a twinge of guilt at her lack of sympathy. She wouldn’t wish this empty ache on anyone.

Briala began to make her way down the tree. Her movements were numb, clumsy, and too slow for her tastes. Taking a risk, she leapt down from a high branch and tucked into a roll. Her shoulder collided with the ground and popped. Pain seared down her arm, which tucked itself up automatically against her, useless. Still, she rose, sidestepping soldier, chevalier, and creature as she made her way towards her Empress, who from afar looked red and lifeless upon the ground.

 

* * *

 

Seconds passed like minutes for Celene. She drifted in and out of blackness and trembled in the cold. Her body kept trying to vomit, but she’d had nothing to eat today and could only weakly spit out whatever meager, bitter contents it was producing. She could still feel the blood pulsing out of her and told herself to tighten her grip, but was uncertain if her body responded. Morbidly, she thought she had to run out of blood soon. How much could the human body contain? The ground beneath her was wet and sticky with it. She could feel it rushing down her neck, dripping into her ear and coating her hair, to say nothing of that which covered her armor. The battle seemed to be clearing around her. No one paid her any mind. And why should they? She was just another soldier on the ground, a failure, a reminder of what they fought for.

Celene heard the clunking of approaching armor and for a moment thought that Adele came to her aid. But as the fuzzy, shadowed image cleared she could make out the warped red armor, the feral, hissed breathing of the soldier underneath. A strange song played at the back of her mind just out of reach, and she swallowed as she gazed up at the Red Templar before her. Celene half expected him to give some arrogant monologue about how the Empress had fallen. But there was not enough thought in those eyes to generate such a response. The soldier beneath the armor was lost long ago. He stood over her, one leg on either side of her legs, and raised his sword, ready to plunge it into her heart. Celene forced her eyes open, forced herself to witness her final moments.

A large staff came into her vision. It collided with the Templar's stomach, sending him reeling back onto the ground. Celene watched as a mage stepped over her and disappeared. The sounds of death were heard, and she lifted her head just slightly to see the mage finishing off the Templar, wiping his hands on his robes. He turned then and looked at her, eyes drifting to her neck and hands extending before he caught sight of her face. Then he paused. 

Celene could barely make out the features of his face. But she could see his pointed ears. And she could tell by his sudden hesitation that he recognized her. He frowned, head tilting to the side as he studied her. Celene’s head was too heavy to hold any longer and she let it fall back onto the sopping ground. He stepped nearer and in the distance Celene heard horns. They were calling for aid. The mage looked to the sound of the horns, and Celene understood in this moment that she was going to die. These were her final moments. Her punishment for lying to Briala, for all the people she had killed to get on the throne. For the countless lives she took while she was Empress. For Halamshiral, for her cowardice. And she welcomed it. She gave a soft smile to the mage and lifted her head towards the sounds of the horns before she dropped her hands. The last thing she felt before she succumbed to the cold darkness was a tingling surge of warmth.

 

* * *

 

Briala drew a dagger in her left hand as she neared Celene. At first she thought the mage crouched over her was simply putting Celene out of her misery. But as he stood and ran towards the sounds of the distress call, Briala realized that Celene was no longer bleeding. She fell to her knees at Celene’s side and dropped the dagger as she felt her knees grow wet with Celene’s blood. She was wrong. Celene was still bleeding just slightly. But it was not the leeching extent of before. Still, Briala knew Celene still was not safe. Her already pale skin was ghostly, blue tinting her lips and shadowing her face. Briala reached out and wiped the vomit from the side of her face, wincing at her cool skin. She placed her ear to Celene’s rapidly rising and falling chest and felt her heart beating wildly beneath the armor.

She didn’t know what to do. Briala sat back on her knees and looked Celene over again. Tears fell down her cheeks and she shook her head. She felt Celene’s blood beneath her, saw it coating Celene’s hair and armor. She lifted her hands but could only hold them in front of her as they trembled.

Briala felt herself being thrown on her back. Shaken from her shock, she began to fight until she saw Celene’s champion over her. Adele grabbed her injured arm and placed her boot against Briala’s ribs. She tugged quickly and Briala grimaced in pain before her shoulder popped again and relief surged through it. Adele pulled her up quickly and gripped her shoulder, meeting Briala’s eyes.

“Send for help,” she commanded, shoving Briala back.

Briala shook her head and looked back down at Celene. “I’m not leaving her.”

“If you don’t get help, she will die.”

Adele stood and Briala winced as she knocked back an approaching enemy. She had entirely forgotten they were in the middle of a battlefield. Adele landed the finishing blow on the soldier and turned back to Briala again. “Go, Briala! I will keep them away.” She jerked her head in the position of where the horns blew and returned to the fight.

Prudence nudged Briala’s shoulder, urging her to her feet. When Briala stood, Prudence took her place next to Celene, eyes and ears alert. Her teeth bared as she watched the battle around them, protecting her Empress. Briala looked down at Celene again, clenched her fists, and took off again. She made for the west of the battle, where she had seen such impressive magic from her perch on the tree. It was likely they had come closer from the distress signal. She ran as fast as she could, skating over rocks and roots as if they weren’t there at all. She found the battle quickly and halted just inside of the trees. She could see chevaliers coated in the silvery strange mist of a barrier and followed the magic to its source. She could have cried out in joy when she saw who it belonged to.

Lady Vivienne was enchanter to the Imperial Court and Celene’s arcane advisor before the civil war. She was also the lover of Duke Bastien de Ghyslain. Duke Bastien had been terribly ill for years, a secret well-kept thanks to Lady Vivienne’s affinity for healing magic and potion making. Briala prided herself on being one of the few to know of the Duke’s afflictions, and made sure Celene knew the worth of such an exemplary healing mage. Even now Briala found herself somewhat in awe of the woman who wore robes decadent enough for an Orlesian ball and swung her staff as gracefully as if sipping wine.

A few Red Templars encroached upon her as she strengthened the barrier of a group of soldiers. Briala watched wide-eyed as Vivienne drew a conjured blade and sliced them all down with a precise strike. She moved then, darting over to the mage. She could feel the magic pulsing from Vivienne as she neared and swallowed back her hesitance as she spoke.

“Lady Vivienne, you must come,” she urged, taking Vivienne’s arm and giving it a pull.

Vivienne wrenched her arm away and looked incredulously at Briala. “Marquise? Can you not see I am somewhat busy?” She swung her staff again and Briala watched as lightning lit up the battle field. It was weaker than Briala had seen before from Felassan, but unsurprising given that Vivienne’s specialty was healing. She touched her arm again and drew near to Vivienne’s ear.

“It is the Empress.”

Vivienne pulled away slowly, then gave a single nod. Briala watched as she buffed the soldiers’ barrier one final time before following her back through the trees. Despite being in her fancy robes, Vivienne stayed right behind Briala as they ran through the trees. Briala had always thought Vivienne had a touch of arrogance, and she wondered if the Inquisitor had humbled her or if this was simply a side to the mage she had never seen. They made their way to the ravine and Briala spotted Celene instantly. Her chest was still rising and falling rapidly, but she appeared to look even worse. Adele was keeping enemies off of her while Prudence continued to stand guard.

Briala ran over to Celene and fell by her side with Vivienne dropping on the other side. Prudence growled for only a moment before sniffing Vivienne’s ear and resuming her watch. Lady Vivienne, known affectionately as The Iron Lady by the Orlesian court for her cold cunning and proficiency at the Game, looked worried. Briala swallowed and held Celene’s hand as the mage gently touched at the wound on her neck before pressing her palm to Celene’s forehead.

“Healed with magic,” she murmured. “Likely slowed her death. The blood loss is severe.”

She looked up at Briala. The elf saw resignation in her eyes and she tightened her grip on Celene’s hand. “Do something,” she ordered.

“It’s too much blood, Marquise. She will—

“Lady Vivienne, please.”

“If I heal her, it will render me useless for the rest of the battle. How many soldiers will I have been able to save for one Empress?”

“I do not care!” Briala hissed. “Heal her!”

Vivienne’s eyes darkened slightly and she looked around the battlefield. “Are you saying this out of loyalty, Marquise, or out of love?”

Briala swallowed and Vivienne continued, her shoulders falling just a bit. “I know all too well what it is like to lose a loved one. But sometimes, such things are out of our hands.”

 Briala shook her head. How could Vivienne be so blind? How could the entire world be so blind? Gaspard and his allies had not seen all that Celene had done for Orlais. At the Winter Palace, Briala overheard the Inquisition’s spymaster suggest it would be easier to kill Celene. Queen Anora herself thought the Empress nothing but a puppet on a pretty string. Was it all a game to them? Was life and death so simple to these people who held such glorious power? It sickened her that she knew the answer to those questions and why. But she glared at Vivienne all the same.

“It is not out of your hands. You do not merely save one woman by healing her. You save the empire. She is what keeps my title, she is what keeps your Inquisition in Orlais, she is the peace between nations.” Briala pulled Celene’s hand to her lips and kissed it, uncaring to anyone who saw. “She has given Orlais everything she has. Is it not time to give _her_  something in return?”

Vivienne searched her eyes deeply, then stood. For a moment, Briala thought she was going to walk away. Then the mage drew her staff. She gripped it tightly in her hand, head bowed as she closed her eyes. Briala felt tingling along her skin, felt something shift in the air around them. The grass and trees seemed to sway in Vivienne’s direction as she called the magic to her. She spun her staff slowly, and a glyph presented itself under Celene. Briala swallowed and watched as Vivienne circled the staff again. She looked to be struggling, as if stirring a vat of tar. Sweat beaded along her brow as she clenched the fist of her free hand. With a grunt of effort, she thrust her hands upward.

Celene’s eyes shot open. Briala watched her back arch off of the ground, body lifting and inhaling deeply as if Vivienne pulled a demon from her soul. Briala herself felt the dull throbbing of her shoulder disappear, the fatigue that ignited her lungs was doused, and she felt refreshed and invigorated. Vivienne thrust her hands back down and Celene collapsed back onto the ground. Her breathing was even, and upon feeling the pulse in her wrist, Briala found it to be normal. But she was still slightly blue, still unconscious, and still caked with her own blood.

Vivienne breathed heavily on her hands and knees for a moment. Her entire body shook, as if keeping upright was a chore. Briala stood and rounded Celene, extending her hand to the mage. Vivienne took it and leaned generously on her as she rose. Then she sighed, straightened her posture, and looked down at the Empress.

“She will be week for several days if not weeks. She must drink lots of water and food with salts. There is a poultice as well that she would benefit from by drinking once a day. I can send the recipe to your estate.”

Briala dared herself to squeeze Vivienne’s hand gratefully. “Thank you, Vivienne. You have saved the empire.”

Vivienne graced her with a smile so often seen at court. “The battle is not yet won, my dear. But, yes, I’d say I have a good feeling about today.” When Briala made to let go of her hand, Vivienne held tightly, eyes growing dark as she turned into the Marquise.

“It would not do well for anyone to see Celene in this condition. They will—

“Take advantage.”

Vivienne smiled and gave a nod. “I suggest returning her to your estate. I will make the necessary excuses.”

Briala kept her smile on despite the wariness in her chest. “How very…generous of you.”

“Marquise, a favor was already owed when I followed you through the trees, not to mention saving the life of your…beloved Empress. But now is not the time for such things. We’ve a god to kill and a world to save. Favors can wait.”

Briala nodded, relieved, and called to Adele. The enemies dwindled significantly with the reinforcements and she was able to step away after dispatching another creature. She came over, breathing deeply but not as heavily as one would think given her recent exertion. She dipped her head to Vivienne and crouched down to Celene. Briala watched as the chevalier took her gently in her arms, identically to how Michel had held her after the Sylvan attack. She turned Celene’s head to rest on her shoulder and adjusted her in her arms. Then she looked to Briala.

“To the camp?”

Briala shook her head, clarity taking back over as she knew that Celene was safe, at least for the moment. “To the estate. Find a horse and get her there as subtly as you can. Speak to no one but Jenara and my closest advisors.” As Adele nodded Briala undid Celene’s braid and used what she could to cover the Empress’ face. Celene’s near white colored hair was distinctive in its self, but she wouldn’t dare allow herself to feel grateful for the blood that coated and caked it and dulled its shine.

Adele turned to go, starting off at a brisk jog into the trees. Prudence followed right at her heels. Briala watched them until they disappeared into the trees then extended her arm to Vivienne again. “Shall I escort you to the camp, Lady Vivienne?”

The mage looked at her as if she’d sprouted another head. “Gracious no, my dear. There’s still a battle going on.”

“I thought you said you would be too exhausted to fight?”

“My  _magic_  would be, yes. I barely feel it. But I can still…” she paused and walked over to a Red Templar who was writhing on the ground. His helmet had been removed and he was searching around intently for his sword. Vivienne looked him over, a flash of sympathy crossing her eyes before it was replaced with a determined glare. The moment the Templar found his sword he tried to bring it up to her. She batted it away and brought the head of her staff down into his skull. Briala grimaced as she watched it cave and the Templar went still.

“Do that, if need be,” she finished with her signature, cat-like grin.

Briala allowed herself a soft laugh. “You are more than deserving of your title, Madam de Fer.”

Lady Vivienne dipped her head and made her way back through the trees to where the fighting was thickest. Briala used the rest of her arrows on the thinning enemy. Her shoulder felt as good as new and even her wrist started off strong, though it waned as she continued to fire. When she had exhausted her arrows and the sun was now in the late afternoon position, she finally heard the horns sound for the final time. They had won.


	33. Chapter 33

Jenara watched the road from a window at the estate. Elves still went about their business from down below, hanging the washing, chopping wood, running errands. But there was a stiffness to their movements, an underlying knowledge of the battle that waged on just down the road. Jenara drummed her fingers on the windowsill. She’d received reports throughout the day and things seemed to be going well, but it wasn’t as good as being there.

“Waiting is the worst battle a war can bring,” Variel said from behind her as he stepped into her office.

Jenara turned and smiled kindly at him. Variel had been surprisingly welcoming to her ever since she arrived. Whether it was by Briala’s order or if Variel felt comforted by the fact that she was just as new to the task of spymastery as him, she wasn’t sure. But his information had been genuine so far, even if his loyalty to the Marquise would always make him a risk.

He was turned slightly to the side, keeping his burn to the wall. Stepping in at her beckoning he stood by her side and peered out the window. They were silent for a few minutes. Jenara listened to Variel’s even breathing and felt her shoulders relaxing just the slightest.

“I was surprised to learn you wouldn’t be partaking in the battle,” she said finally, eyes darting to his to catch a reaction.

Variel didn’t play the Game, and it was easy to see the frustration in his grimace, the way his fingers just barely tightened on the windowsill. “Marquise needed someone here just in case.”

“There are others here who cannot fight, just in case.”

A sad smile touched the corner of his lips. He lowered his head and leaned against the windowsill for a moment. Jenara watched his long, tapered ear shift forward and recede, a common indicator of stress. It was one of the reactions that she had managed to suppress, just like any elf who worked among nobles. The twitching, however, was another story.

“I, um, I…” he laughed, a blush coloring his cheek. “It’s bizarre. When I pick up a…a sword or a bow it’s…my cheek starts to burn and sometimes I lose myself. And, and I’m back with that beast of a mage and she’s…you know, she’s—

Jenara touched his shoulder gently, and Variel exhaled the rest of his words in an uneasy breath. With a furrowed brow he watched some children down below play a ball game. After a few plays he straightened again, subtly shrugging off her hand with a roll of his shoulders and a kind laugh.

“Anyway, the Marquise thought it best if I didn’t partake.”

“She understands the importance of time.”

Variel rolled his eyes. “How much more time could it possibly take?”

“As much as it needs.”

He looked over at her, and Jenara counted the deep wrinkles in his still furrowed brow. His eyes were deep, near black, and large as they gazed at her. The side of his lips already pulled a bit from the scar, but they, too, were deeper as he frowned. For all of her skill in the Game, Jenara didn’t know what he was searching for in her eyes. But she hoped he’d find it.

Voices picked up down below. Both Jenara and Variel looked up and recognized the horse that carried the lone woman into the estate. Adele, upright and alive. Not bothering to see anymore, she raced down the steps of the estate and out the front door towards her chevalier. As she neared, her steps slowed. Adele carried someone in her arms. Jenara pretended to search the woman’s face, though her pale face and blonde hair had given her away long ago. She was wrapped in what looked to be Dirge’s cloak, eyes closed, lips just the slightest shade of blue. And she was covered in blood.

Adele watched as Jenara’s ear twitched at the sight of her Empress, body trembling as her eyes lost themselves in thought. Then she straightened, her eyes becoming hard as Variel came to her side, open mouthed. He came and took the Empress from Adele, only to give her right back as soon as she was off her horse. Declining any help, Adele met eyes with Jenara through her helmet and made her way up the stairs and into the estate. Jenara followed and they were silent as the chevalier carried up the stairs and into her bedchambers.

Outside the door to the bedchambers, Adele turned to Variel as Jenara opened it. “The Marquise said that we were to be subtle,” she said to him quietly, her voice hoarse from today’s efforts.

Variel nodded. “I understand. Shall I send for anything?”

“No,” Adele answered. “We’re to keep this quiet until either she wakes or the Marquise returns.”

Variel nodded once more and stepped down the hall at an efficient pace. Jenara held the door as Adele stepped inside with Celene still in her arms. When Adele made to place Celene in the bed, Jenara tugged on her sleeve and instead pulled her into the bathroom. “We must clean her,” she said when she noticed Adele’s confused stance.

Adele’s only task was to support the Empress as Jenara bathed her. The chevalier held Celene by her underarms as she stood outside of the tub, keeping her head turned away as far as it would go. Jenara bathed her quickly but gently, and tried to ignore the sickly red shade of the water. Celene never opened her eyes, never once changed her breathing, though the warm water helped a bit with her blue lips. Once Celene was clean enough Jenara dried her and placed a loose nightgown over her, where Adele finally placed her in the bed. The two looked her over, and Adele watched as Jenara reached out and placed a hand against Celene’s cheek. She frowned, ear twitching as she pulled away. Then she turned to Adele and looked her up and down.

“Let’s clean you up next,” she said simply before turning and walking out of the room.

Adele gave Celene one last look and a final prayer before she followed the elf out the door. She need only go next door and she was careful to shut Celene’s door behind her. Jenara was already drawing her bath when she stepped into the room. She kept her head down, eyes looking only from the fire to the water as she prepared the bath, and Adele thought it best to leave her be, stripping out of her armor by herself. Fatigue began to creep into her muscles as she worked. Her body shook on weary legs, and she wondered how she’d ever been able to carry Celene up all those stairs.

She lost count of how many enemies she’d slain today. It seemed like a constant barrage of horror. Whether it was the strange singing crystals, Red Templars, or those spiked creatures, she hadn’t once been able to let her guard down. Until Celene fell. Adele swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d failed again. And the worst part was that she knew she couldn’t take the blame. Celene defied her demands of retreat, insisted on fighting in the fray, and if she hadn’t let her exhaustion get the better of her and been lazy in her last execution, she could have seen the arrow sooner. But Celene wasn’t a chevalier. She didn’t have the stamina that Adele did, nor the training. Celene had gotten herself into this mess, and a small part of Adele wondered if this was what she wanted. If falling in battle, dying honorably and courageously, was how Celene wished to end her reign as Empress.

She removed the last piece and let it clatter unceremoniously to the floor. A warm body pressed against her back, arms coming around her stomach to hold her tightly. Adele placed her hands over Jenara’s and rubbed them gently. She turned in Jenara’s arms and lifted her so the elf could rest her head on her shoulder. Jenara squeezed her again, pressed her nose to Adele’s neck and inhaled deeply. She smelled of earth and metal, sweat and blood. But she was here. Alive. Jenara kissed the strong pulse of her neck.

“Is it terrible of me to have felt joy at your arrival? Even as you carried the Empress in your arms?” Jenara asked against Adele’s skin.

Adele carried the elf slowly into the bathroom where the sweet scents of the bath were almost too overwhelming. She sat on the edge of the tub and Jenara turned herself so she sat in the chevalier’s lap. Dark blue eyes bored into Adele’s golden ones, searching as her hand traced idly up and down her cheek. Adele smiled and ran her finger across Jenara’s jaw, suddenly concerned of dirtying her.

“I’ve never felt more joy than seeing you run down the steps of this estate. You stayed.”

“I promised you.”

“And I promised you.”

Adele kissed her sweetly and pulled away with a soft smile. “I can bathe myself. Return to your Empress and I’ll join you shortly.”

Jenara nodded and kissed her once more before hopping off her lap. She made her way back into Celene’s room and found it undisturbed. Celene hadn’t so much as moved her head. Jenara swallowed warily as she gazed at Celene, so pale and weak. She still didn’t know what happened out there. A part of her didn’t want to. But she knew Celene still looked very much in danger. To keep her hands from fidgeting Jenara made her way over to Celene’s discarded armor. She rifled through it and found the pouch that went around Celene’s waist. Dipping her hand inside she removed Celene’s favorite locket and a small wooden puzzle, setting them both on the table next to Celene’s bed. After a moment of thought, she picked up the locket again and moved it to Celene’s jewelry box and out of sight. The puzzle, she decided, could stay.

 

* * *

 

It was dark when Briala finally returned to the estate. When the battle was over she kept appearances up by talking with the general and the Inquisition. The Inquisitor, frustrated at having Corypheus slip from her grasp yet again, was nowhere to be seen. There was a strange mood that surrounded her advisors, something implying that more went on in that temple that they cared to admit. But Briala could not bring herself to be curious. She made apologies on Celene’s behalf and assured worried queries that the Empress was fine, just removed from battle for her own safety. Plenty of soldiers had seen her fighting in the ravine to ensure the reputation she wished to spread. Finally, when they parted ways, Briala all but raced back to the estate.

Most of the estate had gone to bed by the time she arrived, and she was thankful for the secrecy as she ascended the steps to the Empress’ chambers. She knocked softly twice, and the door opened a moment later. Jenara’s face betrayed nothing as she stood to the side and allowed the Marquise entrance. Adele was in the room as well, dressed down in a tunic and breeches, and she stood at the edge of the bed with crossed arms, studying Celene intently.

In the darkness, Briala could almost fool herself into thinking that Celene looked better. Certainly her chest still rose and fell with even breaths, and the shaded light of the room dulled her deathly pallor. But the cut on her neck was still fresh, red and swollen as it tried to heal. The room smelled of blood despite being clean, and Briala swallowed as she headed over to the Empress’ side. There was a chair next to the bed that was likely occupied by Jenara prior. But Briala took it instead, inching it closer to the bed as she reached for Celene’s hand. It was still cool, and though Briala longed to bring the hand to her lips, she held it at Celene’s side.

“Forgive me for not giving you privacy, Marquise,” Jenara muttered dutifully behind her.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Briala answered with a sigh. She shook her head at Celene and squeezed her hand. “You fool. For all your intelligence, you’re still such a fool.” Briala scoffed dryly and tried to ease the ache in her chest by leaning forward. “Did you not think of the turmoil you’d leave behind? An empire without an heir and Ferelden at our borders with soldiers. Maker’s blood, Celene, you’re too trusting for your own damn good. Too hopeful, idealistic. You don’t see things how they are, only as they should be. I’ve always loved that about you.” Briala gave her hand a final squeeze and let it rest by her side again before she turned to Jenara.

“Any change?”

“No, my lady.”

“I want someone in here with her at all times. Lady Vivienne is to send along a potion to help with her healing. Until Celene is recovered we shall carry on as if nothing is wrong. Matters of state will need attending, as well as keeping up with any rumors that may arise at the estate over her absence.”

“Yes, Marquise,” Adele and Jenara said simultaneously.

As Briala made her way out of the room, Adele’s gentle voice sounded from behind her. She paused, but did not turn as Adele asked, “Marquise, forgive me but, did we win?”

“Yes,” Briala answered as she headed out the door. “We did.”

She was still in her armor, still disgusting from the day’s battle her shoulder and wrist ached dully as she moved but Briala was in no mood to relax. There were too many things that needed her attention. She made her way to her office and took a deep breath as she entered, hoping it would clear her cloudy mind. When that was to no avail she sat at her desk and began reading over reports. She’d re-read the top one four times when she heard a knock at the door.

Briala looked up and felt her mind ease at the sight of the broad-shouldered elf in her doorway. “Dirge,” she breathed, not unlike she had when he saved her from Mihris.

He smiled weakly and shuffled inside. He was without his cloak, and it was an odd sight. She frowned slightly as she studied the frame that hid beneath the cloak and he chuckled, throwing his eyes to the ceiling.

“Gave it to your Empress. Seemed she needed it more than me.”

Briala nodded and swallowed dryly.

“How is she?” he asked as she shuffled back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Briala forced a smile. “Are you certain you even care, Dirge?”

“Aren’t you the one always preaching about loyalty to the empire?”

She laughed, surprisingly, and shook her head as he leaned against her desk. “She’s…alive. That’s about it.”

“She’ll pull through. Nearly as stubborn as you.”

“I just…I can’t fathom why she would risk herself when her people need her the most.”

Dirge nodded slowly beside her. “Funny. I said the same thing when you disappeared. Everyone’s got their own point to prove. And sometimes, when hanging out with the likes of you and your Empress, I gotta wonder where the public service ends and where you begin. And which one is more important in the end. Can’t save the world if you’re too busy trying to save yourself, after all. But neither does anyone owe the world any damn old thing.”

“’And doom upon all the world,’” Briala quoted quietly. She had been resting her fist against the desk as she leaned over it. Her knuckles ached at the pressure and she pulled it back, rubbing her thumb along them.

As a girl, Celene enjoyed reading the Canticles of Threnodies when she studied the Chant of Light. Briala remembered that Celene used to sagely quote ‘marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting’ every time her hair never fell quite right or she tripped on a stone in her path. Briala used to laugh when said it, nose upturned and eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to remake herself in her supposed image of perfection.

“Didn’t know you were Andrastian,” Dirge said with a raised eyebrow.

Briala sighed. “I’m not sure that I am. Are you?”

“I believe in whatever name my girl screams in bed that night.”

“A belief I can get behind,” Briala chuckled.

Dirge smiled and eyed the Eluvian in the corner. “Maybe I should cancel the expedition into Ferelden.”

“No. Things must go as planned. Normalcy is necessary right now. Besides, those poor elves have waited long enough for us.”

“As you say, Marquise. Only hope I get my lucky cloak back before we go. Celene’s handmaiden sent it to the wash.”

Dirge lifted his hand and rested it on Briala’s shoulder. It felt oddly comforting despite Dirge’s apparent awkwardness, and she placed her hand over his for just a moment.

“Thank you, Dirge,” she said quietly when his hand lifted.

Dirge bowed deeply. “My pleasure, Marquise. Take care of yourself. Your Empress will survive, whether anyone wants her to or not. And you need to be at your best when she wakes and finds out she’s been unconscious for days and her empire has yet to crumble at her absence.”

She felt his presence leave the room more than she saw it, and heard the door shut behind him. She read the report over for the fifth time and was able to move onto the next. 


	34. Chapter 34

Celene came awake slowly. Her eyes were too stubborn to lift just yet, tempting her back to sleep. But her throat was dry, her stomach ached from hunger, and the pain in her head was like nothing she’d felt before. The empress sighed and worked her tongue in her mouth. It, too, was dry and clung stickily to the roof of her mouth. She wasn’t in heaven. Heaven wouldn’t be this uncomfortable. And the alternative would be distinctly more uncomfortable. Therefore, she must be alive.

She thought back to her most recent memory. The arrow coming towards her, the feel of her blood escaping, the cold embrace of certain death, shadowed figures overhead and a warmth that she was so certain was her crossing over. She’d heard of people’s lives passing before their eyes before they died, but that did not happen to her. Her mind was still too attached to the moment. The feel of someone by her side, the sounds of war. Blackness. Then, as if she’d only blinked, she woke up here, in what seemed like a comfortable bed. She was likely not a prisoner then, which was also a good sign.

Something heavy pressed itself on her chest. At first, Celene half-hoped that it was be Briala, just like she’d done so many nights before. But then the weight snored heavily, and Celene’s eyes opened in disgust.

Prudence on a bed was bad enough. Prudence on a bed with her in it, _lying on her chest_ was unacceptable. Celene tried to push the massive mabari off and found herself incredibly weak. Her head swam with the effort. Prudence did not move. But she did open her eyes, a high pitched whine coming out when she saw Celene’s eyes were open.

“ _Descendez-vous,”_ she grumbled, pushing against the dog again.

Prudence whined again but reluctantly hopped off the bed just as Celene’s door opened. The empress looked on as her champion entered with a book in hand. Adele brightened when she saw Celene was awake and moved swiftly to her side. She bowed deeply and dropped to her knee, keeping her head bowed.

“Majesty, you’re awake.”

“How long have I been out, Adele?”

“It’s morning of the third day.” Adele’s head snapped up at her own words, struck with the realization that the empress still needed care. She reached for a pitcher on Celene’s nightstand and filled a cup with water.

Mindful of her aching throat, Celene made to sit up and found that she couldn’t. Keeping her expression resolute, she tried once more to lift herself, only to have her head surge with pain and her vision cloud. With a heavy breath she rested back against the pillows, shaking her head as Adele came near with arms extended. She’d been through worse; even saved her own champion from death before. Certainly she could find it within herself to rise.

“What of the battle?” Celene asked to take the attention off of her as she began to work her arms.

Adele looked to protest, then dipped her head again and repeated the events of the battle. She spoke of the Inquisition and Corypheus slipping from their grasp again. She spoke of Celene’s bravery and how many enemies she’d slain, of the arrow catching her neck and of Lady Vivienne’s impressive magic. For a moment Adele considered telling her of Briala and how the elf nearly refused to leave her side but thought better of it. While it might make the empress feel better initially, she didn’t want Celene thinking that she owed Briala for anything. The elf was able to take too much from her already, regardless of if she wanted to or not. Still, the thought of Briala’s tenacity at saving the empress was touching, if nothing else.

When Adele had no more to say Celene tried once more to lift herself. She moved slowly, her head lolling as she sat up and reclined against the headboard. One, simple motion and she was already exhausted again. Death would certainly have been easier.

Adele extended the water to her and Celene did not waste time with etiquette as she downed the glass and asked for another. She ended up drinking too much, her stomach aching as she finally gave the cup back to Adele with a shaking head. But her throat was no longer dry and some of her thoughts seemed to clear. She was still weak, however, and she grimaced as she looked out into the room. Prudence was off the bed, but now rested her chin on the edge, eyeing Celene intensely. She didn’t have the energy to correct the dog so she turned to her champion instead.

“I’m expecting news from Jader. As well as a report on—

“Majesty, forgive me,” Adele interrupted as she lowered her head. “But you are in no condition to work. Jenara has taken over your duties for the time being.”

“Excuse me?”

“The…the Marquise felt it necessary to keep up the idea that you were well. Orlais is already weakened and with Ferelden having been stationed so close she thought it best to keep up appearances.”

“Jenara has been corresponding with nobles on matters of state?” Celene asked, not caring to keep the horror from her eyes. Jenara was an impressive woman, but she was young and inexperienced and Celene shuddered to think what horrors she might unknowingly unleash.

“Not yet, majesty. Merely, she’s sending out missives that their letters have been received, and that the nobles should expect patience with your responses.”

“That’ll give her a few days at most.” Celene started to rise and attempted to shield the grimace from her features.

“Majesty, I—

“I am more than fit to work, Adele,” Celene snapped as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “My mind was not injured in the battle. Put me in a chair and I’ll—

Celene made to stand, and the rush of dizziness from her head made her eyes cloud in blackness. She stumbled, knees giving, and braced herself for a fall until she felt her champion’s arms around her. Adele held her gently and eased the empress back onto the bed. Celene kept her eyes shut until the dizziness faded into a dull haze. When she opened them again, her vision was clear. Adele kept her head bowed, no doubt attempting to spare Celene from her shame. It was futile, but a nice gesture nonetheless.

“Bring my work to me then,” Celene said as she gripped the side of the bed.

Adele opened her mouth, then reconsidered for a moment. “Perhaps I’ll fetch the Marquise. She’ll want to know you’re awake.”

“That was an order, Adele.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

With a final bow, Adele turned and headed out of the room. Orders must be followed. Adele would bring Celene her work as she asked. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t get the help of the Marquise first and have Briala try to convince Celene to rest while she worked on Celene’s demands. Adele made her way to Briala’s office and knocked softly. She was beckoned inside a moment later.

Briala sat at her desk, writing furiously on a sheet of parchment. But for the tapered ears and elven gown, she looked like any other noble at court. Her eyes were set and determined, mouth upturned slightly as she wrote what Adele assumed was a particularly eloquent response. The chevalier waited patiently while Briala finished her thought, then dipped her head when Briala finally set down her quill.

“Marquise, her majesty is awake.”

Briala swallowed, eyes calm despite her racing heart. “I see. How is she?”

Adele allowed herself to smile. “As…fiery as ever, in spirit if nothing else.”

Briala nodded. Her first instinct was to race down the hall and see for herself that Celene was awake. But that option was out of the question. In fact, all she could do was smile pleasantly and give a nod of her head. “Thank you for informing me.”

Adele shifted from one foot to the other. “Marquise, I’m…I’m on orders to bring Celene her work.”

Briala raised an eyebrow. “She’s in no condition to be working.”

“I agree, my lady. But she was insistent.”

“She’s going to work herself to death.”

“I agree.”

“Her pride will be the end of us all.”

“That’s why I’m here, my lady,” Adele answered with an even voice that slowed Briala from her tirade. “I cannot disobey her imperial majesty, but I can take my time in bringing her work.”

Briala sighed. “You want me to dissuade her.”

“I thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask.” Seeing that she had not yet won her argument, she added, “She can barely sit up on her own.”

Briala met Adele’s golden eyes, laced with concern, and sighed again. She rose from her desk and made her way to the door, giving Adele a single nod. “I will try my best,” she said finally.

Adele nodded, smiling at her. “Fair warning, my lady. She is…fragile.”

“You mean she’s being a horse’s ass.” Briala fought to keep the smile from her lips. She’d dealt with Celene’s stubbornness many times before. Never before had she been looking forward to it, however. “I will deal with it. Thank you, chevalier.”

Briala stepped out into the hall and made her way down to Celene’s chambers, fighting to keep her pace even. She promised herself to limit the number of times she checked in on the empress to keep her mind focused on her own tasks. She and Dirge had finalized his trip to Ferelden. And after ensuring that he had his lucky cloak back in hand, she sent him off through the Eluvian to escort refugees from the mage and Templar wars back safety. But it felt like years since she’d seen last Celene and longer still since she’d seen her well.

She knocked on the door three times and heard Celene’s voice beckon her in from the other side. It made her heart flutter and she pushed the door open wide, keeping it there as she stepped inside. Celene had been expecting Adele, and her face fell just slightly at the sight of Briala. Her hands tightened on the bedsheets, and she pulled them up just a bit more over her waist. Shame, Briala thought to herself. The empress was ashamed of being seen in such a state by her. Odd, considering what they’d looked like traveling through the Eluvians. But times had changed significantly since then.

And truthfully, Celene didn’t look all that well. She was still a sickly shade of pale, as opposed to her usual fresh pallor. Her hair was messy and tangled, some strands stuck to her scalp with sweat. Her lips were chapped and though she looked awake, her eyes were dull, far from the piercing alertness they usually held. Briala lifted her chin just a bit higher and made her way over to the bed.

“Celene.”

“Marquise.”

Celene held her gaze despite wanting to look away. Briala looked healthy, vibrant and strong. She must have looked like one of the undead they fought during the civil war. Lifting a hand to her head, Celene tried to run her fingers through her hair and stopped when she felt the tangles. Briala smiled softly at her and looked back to make sure the door was still open.

“It is good to see you are awake,” she said finally.

“It is good to see you well. I trust you were uninjured in the battle?”

“For the most part,” Briala answered, rolling her shoulder absently. It was still a bit tender from its recent dislocation, but would heal fine in time.

Celene nodded, pleased. She remembered before she lost consciousness that she should have told Briala she loved her. It would have been her dying regret.

“Briala, I—

“You can’t work.”

They spoke at the same time. Briala dipped her head slightly and gestured for Celene to speak. But Celene’s eyes narrowed instead, an affronted look crossing her features. “What do you mean I can’t work?”

“You need your rest.”

“That is a luxury I cannot afford. The empire needs me. You know that.”

“I do know that. The empire needs you at your best. You can barely lift your head.”

Celene lifted her head from the headboard in retaliation. “I just need a cup of tea. Then—

“You’re not getting tea.”

“ _No tea?”_

Briala suppressed a smirk by circling around the bed and making her way over to the closed curtains. “For a few days, anyway. Only water and the poultice that Lady Vivienne dropped by.”

“Bria—Maker,” Celene hissed as Briala opened the curtains, bringing sharp sunlight into the room. She brought a hand up to shade her eyes, wincing as her head throbbed with pain. “I am not a child!” she managed finally.

“Then stop acting like one,” Briala answered evenly. “You nearly died, Celene. And you were out for three days. As you can see,” she gestured out the window, “the empire has not fallen. Nor did it fall when you were at war with Gaspard, nor when that hole opened in the sky. It is remarkably resilient, and will last until your strength returns.”

“I cannot afford to rest while my people suffer,” Celene answered. Though it hadn’t worked in her favor before, she swung her legs over the side of the bed again. She would get up this time, by fury alone if nothing else.

Briala appeared before her, hands on her hips. Celene eyes trailed upwards from her slender waist, past her delicate neck until they rested on her eyes. Briala looked sympathetic, but pitying, and the empress sighed.

“Could the empire afford to lose you in the battle? You didn’t seem to mind then.”

Celene glared. “They needed to see me fighting for them.”

“In the midst of the fray? Did they need to see their empress fall, see the blood that poured from your neck? What kind of message did that send to the soldiers on the field?”

Celene’s jaw clenched. “You were there.”

“Yes. I saw you fall.”

Celene swallowed, eyes just a touch softer as she said, “I’m sorry.” She paused for just a moment, taking a deep breath. “I should have told you that I loved you. Love you.”

Briala licked her lips, her hands squeezing her own hips in an attempt to keep her composure. “I know that you do,” she murmured. “But you’re still not doing work.”

“You cannot stop me,” Celene countered, making to rise from the bed.

Briala tensed, took a chance, and put her hands on Celene’s shoulders. Celene hitched beneath her touch but stayed on the bed. Briala removed her hands and sighed. “I’m asking you, Celene. Please, rest.”

The empress shook her head even as her shoulders fell in defeat. “I cannot,” she said weakly. “I have important matters to attend to. No one else can respond to them and it will raise suspicion to delay it for as long as you’re asking.”

“Your people can tend to it.”

“No, they can’t. Jenara is too inexperienced. I can’t trust her with that yet.”

“But you can trust me.”

Celene looked up, brow furrowed in confusion, and Briala nodded. “I’ve ruled by your side for years, Celene. I know what you want and how you want to go about it. Let me do the work and if you behave yourself, I’ll let you read over what I write before it’s sent.”

“’Behave,’” Celene mocked under her breath as she rested back against the headboard. “What am I supposed to for all this time?”

“Read, watch the clouds,” Briala glanced at the nightstand and noticed the small, wooden puzzle resting on it. Celene had done it backwards, as she’d asked, and she smiled as she picked it up and extended it to the empress. “Work on that.”

“I’ve already finished it.”

“Now do it vertically. Then backwards vertically. Evens, odds, get creative.”

Celene sighed heavily, keeping her cursing to herself as she picked up the puzzle. Briala watched her take it, her eyes growing focused as a slender, elegant finger began to move the tiles. She would always be beautiful to Briala. The elf kneeled down by Celene’s bed, and gently took her free hand. Celene did not pull away but watched intently as Briala kissed the top of it. It lingered, because she could not help herself, and Briala gave her hand a squeeze as she pulled her lips away.

“I am glad you are awake,” she murmured.

Celene said nothing, but for the briefest of moments lifted her hand and trailed her finger down the smooth bridge of Briala’s nose. She used to do that all the time when they were lovers, and Briala closed her eyes for a moment at the touch before Celene’s hand fell away. Satisfied, Briala rose and made her way out of the room, closing the door behind her.

It took just a few short, quick steps to reach Jenara’s office, and she entered after knocking twice, not waiting for a response. Jenara and Adele were in her office, gathering papers to take to Celene. Adele looked hopefully over at Briala, who gave her a nod.

“The empress has agreed to rest. You may return to her, champion, if you wish.”

Adele looked over at Jenara, only moving when the small elf gave a nod of her head. She dipped her head politely to Briala before making her way out of the room. Jenara kept her eyes lowered to her documents, but Briala knew that she was the elf’s sole focus.

“Jenara, the empress has requested me to help you with her matters of state.”

Jenara nodded and fished a stack from a pile, extending it to Briala as if she’d been expecting it. “I believe these are the most pertinent. However you make look through the others if you wish.”

Briala took the reports, somewhat stunned at Jenara’s lack of regard to the matter and rifled through them. From her peripheral, she could see Jenara giving her sideways glances, always watching despite working on her own matters.

“Should I be expecting a knife in the back?” Briala asked as she read through another document.

“Have you done something to deserve it, Marquise?”

Briala chuckled and lifted her eyes to meet Jenara’s. “I simply aim to know where I stand. Are we friends or enemies?”

“We are neither.” When Briala appeared unsatisfied with that response, Jenara sighed and continued. “You are Celene’s greatest weakness, and subsequently her biggest threat. I cannot afford to see you as any more or less than that as her majesty’s spymaster. It is the same reason Dirge holds Celene in the same regard. It’s nothing personal, Marquise, just what must be done.”

“The empress is lucky to have you.”

Jenara’s ear twitched and she tucked a lock of hair behind it in an attempt to disguise the motion. It was futile, however, and Briala smiled as she returned to her documents, more confident than ever that Celene was safe from harm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays to you all!


	35. Chapter 35

The first week, admittedly, had been rough for Celene. Being escorted to and from chair and chamber pot was not a particularly prideful moment for anyone, least of all the Empress of Orlais. She’d ordered for someone else to help her, someone she didn’t know and someone she could ignore. Jenara’s eyes were too kind and Adele’s were too forcefully distant. Briala would have been the best choice to help her, of course, but that was out of the question. The marquise was busy running the empire for Celene at the moment, and the empress tried desperately to stay out of her way.

When her head and fatigue would allow, she busied herself with books and her own thoughts and the puzzle, which she’d solved in fourteen different ways and could hardly stand to look at anymore. Vivienne’s potion, although beneficial, tasted of pure salt and Celene was certain nothing would ever taste the same again. Though she could hardly tell at this point, what with Briala ordering that all of Celene’s meals be over-salted and full of meat. She, and her aching head, longed for her tea, sweetened with honey and smooth and refreshing.

Celene, secretly, had always prided herself on her body. Her mind was sharp and only grew sharper as the years wore on, able to retain more and become distracted less. Her legs were strong from horseback riding and dagger training only toned that which was already there in her torso and arms. In the mirror and in glances from fellow nobles she knew that she had a figure worth admiring. She’d been using it to her advantage since puberty, distracting men and even a few women with a well taken breath and a polite smile. When she’d travelled with Briala during the civil war, her muscles ached but continued on. They saved Briala from the sylvan, killed countless undead, slew a varterral, and still had the strength to keep her back straight when she lost everything.

But now it seemed her body failed her. Her head rested heavily upon her neck, forced her to recline against the headboard of the bed, and grew dizzy with effort when she read too long or tried to think of matters of state. Her eyes blurred after minutes instead of hours, and without tea and her thoughts to distract her, the headache was worse than she could ever recall, pulsing and pounding against her skull and making her all the wearier.

She could see the muscles in her arms and legs and torso growing fainter with each passing day. The muscle exercises taught to her by Mantillon helped, maybe, but they were meant to relax the muscles when they were in use, not when they were idle. In the bed that was far too comfortable, Celene would rub at her arms and try not to imagine how she’d ever be able to fend off assassins or an attack in such a state. In frightened her more than she’d like to think.

The only time her mind and body gave her respite was when the marquise visited. Ever courteous these days, Briala ensured the door to the empress’ room stayed open, and kept a respectful distance from the bed. Briala kept her visits brief, staying only a short time in the afternoon to fill Celene in on news from Val Royeaux and matters that needed her attention. Sometimes, if Celene’s head behaved, she could distract Briala for a few minutes with idle chatter, where she’d hear about her day and how the estate was running. Briala’s eyes would light up slightly, and she’d smile as she spoke, her voice easing the tension in Celene’s temples ever so slightly. Each time Briala left, she would kiss Celene’s hand reverently. But it was the lingering that always made Celene’s heart flutter, and squeeze Briala’s hand in return. Stupidity, maybe, or selfishness. Perhaps even hope, but whatever it was, it helped Celene to swallow the horrid potion every day and force herself to get stronger.

Today, two days into her second week, it seemed to pay off. Celene’s eyes opened just before dawn, as they always did. But instead of blurred and slowly forming shadows, they saw clearly. Celene blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t dreaming but, no, her eyes had focused as soon as she opened them, just like they had before the accident.

Celene swallowed and tried to reason herself out of the hopeful tingling that coursed through her body. Slowly, she sat up, and though the dizziness had been receding, this was the first day that she felt none upon rising. The empress smiled to herself, giddy for the first time in days, and touched a hand to her head. The headache was pervasive, but Celene couldn’t recall a time when she was without one. And now, with her mind clear, she was able to push the pain to the back of her mind and focus on other matters. She sighed as the thoughts soothed her head, swam around her mind in clear, concise forms with multiple outlets.

Prudence, as she had done every day since getting kicked off the bed, slept right at Celene’s side. And upon sensing that Celene was awake, she rose and placed her head on the edge of the bed, watching intently. Celene watched as Prudence sniffed the air, met her eyes, and barked. She cringed, her headache surging for a moment before it steadied out into its weak pulse, and watched as Prudence’s entire back end began to sway as she wagged her small tail. Apparently even she could sense that the empress was on the mend. But Celene could not find it within herself to be impatient with the dog. Prudence never once left her side, and Celene rewarded her by idly stroking the top of her head. She watched as Prudence’s eyelids began to droop, content even as her tail continued to wag vigorously.

“You have been a good dog,” she said quietly into the room. “I may not always show it, but I am grateful for you.”

Prudence opened her eyes again, stared long and hard at the empress, and nuzzled against her hand. Celene chuckled and sat up, swinging her legs to the edge of the bed. She pressed the balls of her feet to the floor and felt the chill of the marble. Slowly, she stood. Prudence stood right in front of her as if ready to catch her somehow if she fell, but she didn’t. And this time her head didn’t swim, her knees didn’t buckle. They were still weak. She felt it as she rolled from the balls of her feet to her heels, but they were ready to work again. Just as she was ready to work again.

Celene walked around her bedchambers on her own for a few rounds and rewarded herself by making her own cup of tea. The scent of the hot, sweet spice alone was enough to temper her aching head, and the sweet taste was better than she remembered. She finished three cups alone before standing again and making another few rounds around the room. Her body was tired from her efforts, but invigorated all the same. When she turned to smile at herself in the mirror, her snow fallen pallor had returned, as did the natural red tint to her lips. Her hair needed brushing, but it still shimmered brightly from her bath last night, full of life as she ran her hand through it and swept it to one side. For the first time since she saw the arrow coming towards her, Celene felt alive.

Too excited at the prospect of having control over her mind and body again, Celene dressed herself in riding breeches and a jacket, and pulled her hair back into a tight plait down her scalp. She was eager to get back to work, but not eager to sit behind a desk all day. Her legs were restless, and after a breakfast—of sweets, no doubt—she would ride until she could ride no more. Then, once it was out of her system, she could resume her rightful duties as Empress of Orlais.

 

* * *

 

Briala grabbed one of the many pastries before her and tore it open. She smiled softly as she noticed it was filled with a lemon cream and was about to take a bite when she heard the telltale sounds of a large dog roaming through the halls. Lifting her head, Briala blinked a few times to make sure the sight before her wasn’t a dream.

Celene strode confidently into the dining hall, unable to keep the proud grin from her lips. But for the still healing scar on her neck, she looked immaculate, healthy. Briala swallowed, dropping the pastry onto her plate as she rose from her chair and bowed deeply.

“Your majesty,” she murmured, fearful that her voice would crack if she spoke any louder, “you are well.”

The words brought relief to Briala’s shoulders, sent a slow breath out of her lungs and relaxed her heart. When she lifted her head, Celene stood before her, and at their nearness Briala could see the vivacity that returned to her empress’ eyes. Celene looked around the room for a moment and pulled Briala into her arms. It still made Celene wary, holding Briala like this with so many around. But their friendship needn’t be hidden, and Celene didn’t know of a better way to express just how grateful she was to Briala for these past few days, months, years.

Now that she knew she was on the mend, Celene could admit to herself that a part of her wanted to die out on that battlefield. It would be easier that way, to simply die a war hero in a great battle. She’d even accepted it when she thought the elven mage was going to let her bleed out. But now that she was awake, healthy, and had Briala’s arms around her, Celene realized just what a fool she’d been.

“Thank you,” she whispered into Briala’s ear as she pulled away.

Briala nodded dumbly and gestured for her sit, automatically depositing the lemon pastry in front of Celene. Celene took a bite and the look of pure joy on her face caused Briala to chuckle and Celene to blush. The empress then proceeded to tell Briala just how horrid Vivienne’s potion was, as well as all of the over-salted food. Briala listened, eager to hear Celene’s clear voice and even clearer thoughts. In the past week when they spoke, Celene could only nod and mumble and gesture. Though she’d improved along the way, this was the Celene she remembered, the Celene she fell in love with, and Briala resisted the urge to scoot her chair closer.

When Celene had her fill of sweets, she looked out the window into the clear morning and smiled again. “I think I’d quite like a walk outside. Would you care to join me, Marquise?”

“Thank you, your majesty. I’d be honored.”

Side by side they made their way out of the estate and into the warm sun. Celene welcomed the fresh air on her face, the smells of fire and wood and plants and earth, things she never knew she’d come to miss. There was a liveliness to the estate, as always, and it kept Celene in fine spirits as she walked and chatted idly with the marquise throughout the garden. She heard of Dirge’s expedition to Ferelden, and of reports on the war and Inquisition, and laughed as Briala repeated a joke Variel had told her.

“That reminds me,” Briala said as they finished their walk. “I’ve something for you in my office, if you’re not too tired to receive it?”

Celene shook her head and followed Briala up the stairs. While she had planned to go riding, it seemed the walk and climb up and down the stairs was more than sufficient for one day out of bed. Perhaps she’d strive for the ride tomorrow and get back to work today. Briala opened the door to her office and bowed to let Celene in first, leaving the door open when she stepped in afterward. What started as an active attempt at courtesy on her part and become a habit, and Celene eyed the door in her peripheral as Briala rifled through papers on her desk.

“Ah,” she said after a moment, smoothing the paper down before extending it to Celene, “for you.”

Celene took the paper and squinted at the drawing etched upon it. Some four legged beast, maybe, and something vaguely resembling a person or an elf. “Art never was a talent of yours,” she teased, smiling when Briala chuckled.

“The elven child, Shae, who’d taken a liking to you drew it when she heard you were sick.”

Celene looked at the drawing again and smiled softly. “What a sweet child.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. She made one for me, too, make sure I knew that I was still her favorite.”

Briala showed her the other drawing and Celene couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculously exaggerated ears. “Well,” she said when she’d calmed, “I approve of Shae’s tastes.”

Briala looked down, shaking her head a bit. She could feel Celene’s eyes on her, see the open door in her peripheral. Celene was well. What were they to do now? The obvious thing would be for the empress to go back to Val Royeaux and continue to run her empire. Briala couldn’t very well return with her. She had duties here in the Dales, plans that must be seen through. Things were better between them than they had been in a long time, and yet it seemed they were destined to be apart.

“I think I’d like to resume my duties now,” Celene said softly, as if she, too, were lost in thought.

Briala nodded and began to compile the empress’ documents, breaking the silence as she brought Celene up to date on current matters. At the end of this week, Celene would likely return to Val Royeaux, and because Briala kept her head down, neither woman could see the hurt in the other’s eyes at the thought.

At the end of the week, as they both had known, Celene prepared to depart once again for Val Royeaux. Briala did not know when she would see the empress again. They would still correspond, of course, but the idea of not knowing, just like when Celene had fallen, made her gut ache with a nauseous emptiness. They both kept their distance during the remainder of the week, neither trusting themselves to appear weak before the other. At least, that was what Briala had hoped Celene had been doing. She still smiled politely, and sometimes when she thought Briala not to be looking her eyes still lingered and yearned. But they had not spoken about anything but matters of state. A small, hopeful part of Briala had entertained the idea of Celene accepting her back into her arms again. But as of this morning, as Briala watched the empress’ carriage being loaded up, she realized that such would not be the case.

Still Briala kept her head held high and smiled as Celene, dressed in a simple, comforting gown fit for travel. The cut on her neck was still healing, but the empress looked as radiant as ever, just as Briala would like to remember her. She smiled at Briala as she neared, and extended her hand when Briala finished her bow.

“Marquise, I cannot express my gratitude at your hospitality,” she said as Briala took her hand and held it gently. The elf couldn’t be sure, and didn’t dare look, but she thought she could feel Celene’s thumb caressing her hand ever so slightly. “Your efforts in the Dales will not go unnoticed in Val Royeaux.”

“You honor me, your majesty,” Briala answered. “Surely such progress is indicative of the effectiveness of your rule.”

Celene gave a soft smile, and allowed herself to sigh, her shoulders falling. Still, she held onto Briala’s hand and met her eyes. “Things have been…tumultuous at best. But I look forward to what the future brings.” She paused and searched Briala’s eyes. “And you? Do you…have hope as well?”

Briala’s heart fluttered in her chest, and she struggled to keep her polite smile from getting any wider. Celene wasn’t ready yet. But she wanted to be. And that was all Briala could ever ask for.

“Yes,” she said finally, watching as Celene’s eyes brightened. “For you, your majesty, there is always hope.”

Briala bowed again, and kissed the top of Celene’s hand. This time, neither of them noticed that it lingered. 


	36. Chapter 36

It was the finest ball Val Royeaux had seen in years. And why shouldn’t it be? The Inquisition had succeeded. The breach in the sky was gone, and Corypheus was dead. Empress Celene looked down at the ballroom of guests, listened to the levity in the air and watched the smiles on the half-masked faces below her. The Game was still being played, but not even the most skilled of her guests could hide their relief. And Celene allowed herself to smile.

There was still much to do. Now that the Inquisition’s job was done, what was to be made of them? The Inquisitor was an exceedingly powerful woman, and someone to keep an eye on. And there was the matter of the missing apostate elven mage from the Inquisitor’s inner circle. No one, not even the famed left hand of the divine could find a trace of him. Celene had never met this Solas, only heard of him in name. But given the Inquisitor’s reluctance to speak of him, as well as her concern, Celene felt she should only be concerned as well.

Tonight, however, she could take a breath from all of that. In her golden gown trimmed with jewels and a mask made almost entirely of sapphires, Celene stood tall and proud over court, ensuring them that she was the strength their country needed. A rising sun after a dreadful time of night.

Celene looked over and found Jenara conversing with a group of nobles. She looked splendid in a violet gown and golden mask, and spoke with a confidence rarely seen. Adele, standing a bit behind Celene, hadn’t yet taken her eyes off the elf. It was far from acceptable, but there were more elves in this ball than had ever been before. Her method of introducing elven servants into social circles was catching on, and she tried to pick out the number of elves in formal wear.

When she spotted one elf in particular, Celene’s heart gave a slight leap in her chest. It had been a few months since she’d left Briala’s home in the Dales and returned to Val Royeaux. They corresponded regularly, and from what information Celene and Jenara had gathered, Briala was still taking in fleeing elves, though the numbers had dropped a bit since the disappearance of the breach. Briala’s name started out as a shameful whisper amongst her court. Now, in her blue dress with simple, silver mask, she stood amongst a group of lords and ladies with the natural grace that she always possessed. They’d yet to officially greet each other. Celene watched the lights above shimmer against Briala’s soft brown curls, her bare shoulders and the slight smile on the corner of her lips.

She looked beautiful. Happy and strong and the center of attention like Celene always knew she could be. The empress swallowed thickly, suddenly overcome with emotion as Adele stepped into her peripheral.

“Majesty,” she said with a bow, “Lady Seryl wishes the pleasure of your company.”

“I’m sure she wishes the pleasure of many things,” Celene teased, sharing a smile with her champion before giving a nod.

Adele stepped down and escorted Seryl up the stairs. She bowed reverently before Celene and the empress dipped her head in response.

“Your Radiance,” Seryl smiled as she stood next to Celene and overlooked the ballroom. “I can’t imagine your relief at seeing that blasted breach gone from the sky. I nearly fell from the window, myself.”

Celene allowed herself to chuckle. She would never forget that morning. The exceedingly rare knock on her door in the early morning, Jenara’s exuberant face, ear twitching like mad as she stuttered and tugged at the drapes. Celene remembered her mouth going dry, thinking that her eyes were deceiving her, that it was a cruel joke or just a momentary calm before the end of the world. And when she realized it wasn’t a dream, her thoughts went straight to Briala. Not to the empire, her people, her livelihood, but her love. And despite her elation at seeing the rift gone, her chest was filled with longing.

“I am quite glad to be dealing with simpler matters such as assassination attempts and the growing Inquisition army.”

Seryl laughed and gestured in Briala’s direction with her chin. “I see she’s still got her head. Does she still have your heart, as well?”

“Always.”

In one of the few times Celene could ever recall, Seryl looked genuinely surprised as she glanced over at the empress. “Such candor. How refreshing, your majesty.”

Celene sighed and gently ran her hand along the smooth, polished wood of the railing in front of her. Briala now chatted with a group of elves, eyes alert and serious to whatever they had to say.

“Too much is said behind these masks, don’t you think?” Celene wondered aloud to Seryl.

Before Seryl could answer, Celene made out the vibrant pink gown of Queen Anora coming up the stairs to greet her. Lady Seryl bowed politely and stepped away as the two acknowledged each other. Anora looked just as strong and proud as Celene hoped to look. The empress wasn’t sure if Anora would accept her invitation, given that’d she’d recently been in Orlais already. But Anora seemed just as intent on their continued cooperation as Celene did, and any hopes were dashed when she watched a sincere smile grace Anora’s features.

“I had thought nothing could outdo Lady Seryl’s grandeur,” Anora said as she took in Celene’s intricate gown. “It appears that I was mistaken.”

“I am glad you approve, your majesty,” Celene answered with a roving glance. It was a strange sort of game the two of them liked to play. Celene had picked up on it when she first greeted Anora upon her arrival to Val Royeaux. It wasn’t quite flirting, but Anora seemed pleased every time Celene showed any sort of interest in her. It was likely the queen was lonely, and Celene could certainly relate to that. Both knew nothing would come of it, but it was hardly an inconvenience for Celene to let her eyes wander, especially since it seemed to delight Anora so.

Anora preened herself ever so slightly and turned to face the ballroom, Celene following suit. “Things are finally back to normal,” Anora said after a moment, keeping her eyes on the party, “and now it is time to bring about change.”

“Such is the way of things.”

“There are many wary eyes upon me this night,” Anora said slowly, the slight dip in her head allowing the empress to see her in a moment of weakness.

Celene couldn’t blame her. She’d received the very same looks at her recent alliance with the Queen of Ferelden. But she could not allow herself to be bullied by these fools any longer. They didn’t even know the slightest discomfort, much less the burdens of rule. And for that Celene found herself somewhat grateful.

“People often tend to gawk at what they could not ever hope to understand. How many times did we turn our eyes upward to that hole in the sky?”

Anora smiled softly in her peripheral. “Do you liken us to an apocalypse, your radiance?”

Celene chuckled. “I liken us to great change, a far spreading, unstoppable movement.”

“Speaking of,” Anora said, gesturing to Briala, who was now speaking quite pleasantly with the Inquisitor. “I’d tried to speak with your Marquise this evening regarding our word, and was surprised to find her somewhat disinterested.”

Celene turned to face the queen and allowed confusion to furrow her brow. “Pardon?”

Anora nodded, seemingly mollified that Celene was just as surprised as she was. “I tried to discuss elven matters with her, and she politely asked if we could simply enjoy the festivities.”

Celene looked again to Briala and found that she’d been caught staring. Though her eyes were unreadable from a distance, Celene could see the soft smile on her features, and recognized the gentle tipping of Briala’s glass, a toast to the empress. Celene swallowed, somewhat giddy, and nodded to Briala. Much like leaving the door open and keeping her distance, Briala did not want to impose herself on the empire. She would talk to Anora, surely. But not here and not now. And it was all for her.

“I’m afraid you’ve been a pawn in the Game, your majesty,” Celene said with an airiness to her tone that made it hard for Anora to find offense to her words. “Allow me to help you gain the upper hand.”

 “I thought no one could be trusted in the Game,” Anora said suspiciously as she eyed the Marquise.

“That is the case, usually. However, betterment of the elves is a promise we made to each other, as well as a promise I made to the Marquise. In this instance, I give you my word that you can trust me.”

Anora shook her head for a moment, not unlike a mother would at an unruly child, and sighed. “As you wish, your radiance.”

“Return to the Marquise and tell her that both you and the empress have seen through her façade. And that the betterment of the elves need not wait behind the decorum of Orlais.”

Anora pondered her words for a moment, then flashed Celene a curious smile. “I hope you will not become accustomed to me blindly following your orders, Celene.”

“Perish the thought, dear Anora.” Celene smiled and dared to give the queen another approving glance. “As I said before, I like the challenge.”

Anora reached out and touched Celene’s arm, a friendly gesture, and moved down to the ballroom. Celene watched the crowd part for the queen and watched as she spoke to Briala. For only a moment Briala’s eyes flickered to Celene’s, and Celene smiled kindly, though she was unsure if Briala saw it or not. Still, she and Anora began to talk. Celene watched for a few moments, then headed out onto one of the several balconies that adorned the ballroom.

There was a soft breeze blowing outside and the stars twinkled brightly overhead. Celene could smell the flowers, forever in bloom and beautiful, and watched the glow of her empire spread through the night. Thoughts ticked away at the back of her mind, as they always did. Her head pulsed lightly in pain from having gone without tea for too long. But this was the closest she could achieve to peace of mind, and Celene closed her eyes as she listened to the music waft out from the ballroom.

“Celene.”

With her back turned, Celene allowed herself a small smile. “Briala,” she greeted, turning her head to the side to watch as the Marquise strode up beside her. They were silent for a few minutes, each watching their own little piece of the world scurry around below them.

Celene could see Briala from her peripheral. The freckles that she loved to kiss, the deep, large eyes, the smooth skin and strong hands, the wild, beautiful curls. And she missed them. She missed her.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Briala said after a moment, frustrated despite her calm voice.

“Neither did you,” Celene answered, and it seemed that was all there was to the matter.

Briala glanced cautiously over at Celene. The scar on her neck seemed so small now, so insignificant. Just another tally of experience in Celene’s life, like the ones on her stomach and thighs. Scars that Briala didn’t even know where they came from. And she hated herself for not knowing. There was a time when she knew every memory that had unfortunately pierced her lover’s skin. But as she kissed the pain away each and every night, so too did the memories dissipate. And perhaps that was for the best. She and Celene had enough bad memories.

“Seems so strange,” Briala said, clearing her throat after her voice cracked. “To think about running an empire _without_ fear of the end of the world.”

“I’m sure that, at least in Orlais, they will kind find some sort of issue and call it apocalyptic.”

“Like Lady Marcelle’s shoes this evening.”

Celene chuckled. “Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Rose colored silk with emeralds _and_ amethysts.”

Celene gave a disgusted noise, not unlike the one Briala had heard the right hand of the divine give several times, and shook her head. “That is truly apocalyptic.”

“Unlike you, your radiance. If I may, you look…” Briala turned and Celene watched her eyes scan the empress up and down. Briala didn’t need to give a compliment. Everything that could never possibly be expressed in words reflected in her eyes.

It was not like the playful look that Celene gave to Anora. It was filled with so much more. And it was a look that Celene had not seen in far too long. It made her feel like a girl again, heart racing every time Briala would run her fingers through her hair, take her hand, or cuddle next to her after falling asleep in her bed. The racing heart and nerves had calmed eventually, as they always did. But now, after so much time apart, it felt that time had been lost. And certainly it was. Because Celene had spent six years without Briala when she first became empress, and more time still during the civil war and the events after. She was tired of waiting. Tired of not being everything that Briala deserved. Tired of her stupidity sending her away. She knew what she wanted. And she knew Briala knew what she wanted. She only hoped that somewhere in the individual lives they had created for themselves, there was room for each other.

“You as well, Bria,” Celene dared. “You know I can’t describe how…”

“I know.”

“I’ve missed you.”

Celene’s words were whispered, rushed out in a moment of courage, and Briala found herself smiling all the same.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

They watched each other’s shoulders fall in relief. Briala felt anxious and edgy. Her fingers tingled as if there was something she was supposed to be doing, but she didn’t know what. She longed to bounce on the balls of her feet just to eliminate this energy. She felt alive, like diving into cold water and coming up for air. Water as bright and clear and blue as Celene’s eyes.

“Would you…” Celene began, turning to look upon her empire for confidence. “Would you visit me tonight, Marquise? There is…so much to say, that others have no right to hear.”

Briala turned and looked towards the doors to the balcony. Adele had closed them and stood in front of them now, on guard and too far away to hear. But that didn’t stop others from mingling on the adjacent balconies or peering through the windows, always watching Celene for weakness and gossip. And now they watched her, too. She was no longer a shadow with a tray or a ‘knife-ear’ with a pretty face. She was a threat, a power. And she was never just a shadow or a pretty face.

“Of course, your majesty,” Briala said with a confidence she actually felt.

Celene smiled softly as her faced hardened back into its mask. Briala bowed deeply to her and watched the empress leave the balcony. The guests on the adjacent balconies filtered out as well, going wherever the empress went, and with a polite smile, Adele turned as well, leaving Briala alone in the night. She watched Celene’s gown as she moved, the sway of her hips, and the gentle way she touched the bannister, and allowed herself to smile. Even if Celene could only be admired from a distance, it was more than Briala ever hoped to regain.

 

* * *

 

Briala did not expect Jenara to be waiting by the passageway entrance when she arrived. She’d seen Jenara at the ball, mingling with and catching the eye of many a guest. She seemed older, more mature somehow, since Briala had last seen her. And she carried herself with a confidence of someone who knows how to slit a throat. Clearly her training was paying off. Loathe to admit it as she was, Briala felt that Celene was safe under the watch of her new spymaster.

Jenara was still in her gown from the ball, as was Briala, and she leaned against the wall casually, straightening when Briala entered.

“Fair warning,” she began, and Briala fought to roll her eyes, “I’ve set up some traps in there. Tripwires. There should be three. You’ll want to keep an eye out.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for four, then.”

Jenara gave a soft laugh. “The empress is in a good place now, Marquise, just as you seem to be. If she’s made the decision to see you, I’ve reason to believe it comes from the right place.”

“Good to see your confidence has grown. You’ll be a grand spymaster someday.”

Jenara’s ear flickered behind her mask and she tried to conceal it by opening the door to the passage way. She dipped her head as Briala took a step inside, and called out softly after her.

“By the way, Marquise, Adele is guarding the door tonight…should the need for screaming arise.”

The door shut behind Briala before she could figure out if Jenara meant what she thought she meant. Shaking her head, Briala stepped cautiously down the passageway, keeping her eye out for the traps Jenara mentioned.

It was all too familiar, this passageway with the glowing light at the end of it. The warmth that radiated from the sliding mirror, the sounds of Celene’s quill scratching or a page in a book being turned. Sometimes she could hear the empress pacing, her bare feet smacking against the polished floor as she fought with whatever matter took priority over her thoughts. Briala fondly remembered all the time’s she’d snuck in this way and found Celene reading or writing or even standing by the mirror, waiting for her. What would Celene be doing tonight, she wondered. Briala felt her heart racing like it had the first time she entered this passageway, but still she pressed on the mirror.

Warm light flooded into her eyes. Briala blinked it away and immediately found Celene sitting on her bed, facing the mirror and waiting for her. She was in her violet dressing gown, hair down and brushed, and she smiled softly as Briala entered and shut the door behind her. Briala took the steps necessary to stand before her and bowed as Celene rose from the bed.

They looked at each other for a long moment, neither one sure of how to begin. Briala watched the column of Celene’s throat as she swallowed, listened to her even breathing, the same smooth tempo that used to lull her to sleep at night. Celene moved then, her hand cautiously extending towards Briala, palm up.

Briala placed her hand in Celene’s, felt its warmth and remembered contour, every line, the way their fingers laced perfectly together.

“Bria, I,” Celene began, shaking her head. “I know that it’s been quite a while. And I know that our past is heavy with guilt and shame. But I can’t…I can’t let you go.” She squeezed Briala’s hand tightly. “I wanted to. I wanted you to move on from me, from this,” she cast her free hand around the room. “And I was willing to live the rest of my life as incomplete if it would give you happiness. And I still will, if that’s what you want. But my breast still aches with every heartbeat I live without you. And If I—

“As does mine,” Briala interrupted when she saw Celene was on the verge of losing herself.

Celene swallowed back her emotion and watched as Briala slowly lifted their entwined hands, giving her plenty of time to pull away, and kissed it gently.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Briala said, reaching with her free hand to trace the scar on Celene’s neck. Celene did not flinch. “I thought I’d finally lost you for the last time, and I…Maker, I still can’t bear to think of it. You said there was much to say, Celene, and maybe there is. But right now…” Briala drifted, shaking her head and kissing Celene’s hand again. She didn’t know what to say anymore. She’d spent so much time talking, teasing, lying. The only thing that was real was Celene’s touch, and she would relish it for as long as it lasted.

Celene’s hand pulled gently beneath her lips. Briala fought back her sigh and let it go, watched it recede back to the empress. She’d gone too far, pushed too hard like she said she wouldn’t. Briala dipped her head in apology, and made to take a step back. She felt Celene’s hands on her cheeks, and lifted her head to meet Celene’s mouth.

They kissed slowly, tenderly as Celene stroked Briala’s face. Briala put her arms around the empress and pulled her in, their bodies flush together and still not close enough. She could feel Celene’s soft skin beneath her dressing gown, the heartbeat that raced against her own in her chest, the feel of Celene’s lips and the taste of her mouth that was so familiar and yet so foreign like a dream or a memory. Celene’s arms came around her and she gave a soft moan as the strength she felt so protected in encircled her.

Celene sighed against her lips, eyes closed and holding tightly to Briala. She spoke between kisses, their lips never apart. “I love you, Bria. I love you so much. I should have told you more.”

Briala fiddled with the buttons of Celene’s dressing gown, unbuttoning them slowly. She was still not close enough to Celene. “I know that you do. I love you, too.”

Celene’s dressing gown came away, revealing the sheer satin of her nightgown underneath. Briala kissed her again, deeper this time, and felt Celene pulling her to the bed. Celene accepted Briala without hesitation, without flinching, all through the night. And each time Briala’s name escaped the empress’ lips, Briala vowed that she would never leave her again. When Celene cradled Briala to her chest and listened to her fall asleep, she vowed that she would never again give Briala a reason to. 


	37. Chapter 37

Lips tickled the elf’s ear as she came awake. Eyes still closed, she smiled and leaned back against the warm body pressed against her. A hand came across her stomach, holding her firmly as lips continued their gentle attack.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Adele murmured between kisses down her jaw.

“Is it a good surprise?” Jenara teased.

Adele’s answer was a muted laugh against her neck, arm tightening to keep her close. Jenara rolled in her arms and kissed Adele gently. As Celene’s personal handmaiden and spymaster, Jenara frequently kept odd hours, usually working late into the night and leaving early in the morning. However, with the empress’ recent reconciliation with Briala, Jenara thought the two should have as much time together as possible. It wasn’t much, but through careful maneuvering, she was able to get them their last morning together. And subsequently, give herself the morning with Adele as well.

Jenara ran her hand over the hard plane of the chevalier’s stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath her touch. She knew they tensed because Adele was ticklish, and she grinned as Adele flashed her a playful glare.

“You don’t have to tickle me to feel them, you know.”

“Mhmm.”

Adele licked her lips, and Jenara felt herself growing excited at the look in her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t have anywhere to be?”

“This is the empress’ last day with the marquise. We should give her as much time as possible.”

Adele traced the line of Jenara’s collarbone slowly. “What do you think will become of them?”

“I don’t know. They both seem…happy. But the empress would not dare pull the marquise from her duties.”

“Nor should she.”

Jenara sighed and leaned in to kiss the chevalier again. “I wish the best for them,” she said as she pulled away.

Adele frowned curiously. “Your life would be much easier without the marquise in it.”

Jenara chuckled. “It would, but I would not wish any more heartbreak upon the empress.”

Adele leaned in and kissed a tender spot on Jenara’s neck, slowly working her way up to her ear. “Should I be jealous of your concern for the empress?” she teased against Jenara’s ear, smiling as the elf trembled against her.

“The empress is wonderful,” Jenara answered as she pulled Adele on top of her. “But she is not you.”

Adele smiled and leaned down to kiss Jenara again, mumbling, “I love you,” against her lips.

She felt Jenara smile against her, and heard the elf return the sentiment.

* * *

 

Celene smiled to herself, eyes closed as she laid between Briala’s legs and listened to her lover’s heavy breathing. Celene’s head rested on Briala’s thigh, and she lazily watched her fingers trail up and down the other thigh that still trembled slightly from their recent activity. She felt Briala’s hand rest on top of her head, stroking her hair softly, and hummed her approval.

“I’m exhausted,” Briala said finally when her breath evened.

“ _You?_ ” Celene teased. “I’m the one who did all the work.”

Briala laughed, and there was a tug on Celene’s hair that beckoned her upward. The empress obeyed and Briala tasted herself on Celene’s mouth when they kissed. It was a slow, lazy morning, a rarity in the empire. Briala wondered what kind of strings Celene or her spymaster pulled to get her the morning off, but it didn’t matter in the end. It was the gesture that mattered. And Briala showed her appreciation with a slip of the tongue that made Celene smile against her lips.

Three days they spent together, back in one another’s arms. And surprisingly, it was like no time had passed between them at all. Briala wondered if this complacency was more the result of naivety or if this was a sign that things were on the mend. Then again, she supposed, they had been on the mend for some time. Perhaps this was what if felt like to be healed. Thoughts niggled, as they always did, at the back of her mind. Ideas about the Dales, the elves, the future. But for once, Celene was not among them. Celene was a fixed point, an assurance, and Briala held her tightly, keeping her close when the empress tried to pull away.

Celene laughed softly against Briala’s neck as she felt the elf holding her close. Still, she allowed herself to relax against her and planted small kisses wherever she could reach. Briala smelled just like she remembered, and their bodies fit perfectly together like they always had. And this time that knowledge didn’t come with fear or guilt or shame. It just was.

Lifting her head, Celene regarded Briala, and the way the sun warmed her skin, brightened her eyes. She was beautiful, and had always been. The most beautiful person Celene had ever seen. A smile touched the empress’ lips as she watched her lover’s eyes glaze over, brow furrowed as a thought overcame her.

“What are you thinking about?” Celene asked gently, kissing the corner of Briala’s mouth to pull her from her thoughts.

Briala’s chest sank beneath her as she exhaled a laugh. “I’m thinking about Lady Seryl referring to us as cloister sisters.”

“Offended, are you?” Celene asked, holding back her chuckle.

“Unbelievably so,” Briala teased, kissing Celene again.

The empress rolled onto her side, bringing Briala with her, and the two relaxed into the pillows.

“It’s been a while since you’ve had a break,” Celene said a few minutes later after watching Briala struggle to keep her eyes open.

Briala hummed in response and stretched, bringing her hand to Celene’s face. “Yes, I suppose it has.”

“You are leaving today.”

“I know.”

“Then I suppose the time has come.”

Briala moved to lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling. “I suppose it has.”

In the three days since their reunion, they hadn’t talked about the inevitable, the passage of time. They’d only been content to savor each other for as long as they could. But now that luxury was gone. Briala could see Celene looking up at her from her peripheral, fingertips gently stroking her arm.

“I can’t stay, Celene,” she said finally, and the gentility in her voice did nothing to ease the pain in her chest.

Celene gave a sad smile. “I know. You’ve much to do. Still so much more to succeed at.”

Briala laughed softly and grabbed Celene’s hand, holding it tightly. “As do you, my love.”

“So what becomes of us, then? Did we spend all this time just to fall apart again?” Celene squeezed Briala’s hand and lifted herself up on her elbow to look down at the elf. Briala didn’t meet her eyes, and Celene understood why. Still, when she placed her lips to Briala’s cheek, Briala turned into her touch, and that was enough.

“I don’t want us to fall apart. But it seems likely that we’ll be spending more time apart than together.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best. We’ll correspond, of course. And there will be frequent visits, I hope.”

Briala smiled and finally met Celene’s eyes. “I hope that as well.”

“Perhaps, too, we’ll leave work outside the door.”

Briala chuckled at that and stroked Celene’s cheek. “Are you capable of such a thing?”

Celene sniffed indignantly, playfully looking offended. “For you, Bria, I will do anything.”

“Celene.”

They kissed again, arms wrapped around each other and holding tightly. Throughout the morning they stayed entwined, talking and relaxing amid peaceful silences and gentle touches. But finally, the morning was over, and Celene sighed as she glanced at the sun outside of her window. Briala understood that sigh for what it was and kissed Celene a final time before climbing out of bed and preparing a cup of tea for the both of them. Celene slid out of bed slowly and pulled on her robe before coming around the bed to hold Briala to her.

“Will you be seeing me off?” Briala asked against Celene’s shoulder.

“Yes. You’re going through the eluvian?”

Upon Celene’s return to Halamshiral, she had commissioned Morrigan, an apostate mage, as her arcane advisor specifically for her knowledge of the eluvians. At the time, she had hope that Morrigan would find a way around the blockade Briala had set up, but that since proved futile. Morrigan did, however, know of a nearby eluvian, and through the greatest of secrecy, Celene had it transported to the imperial palace. It rested now in a locked room, surrounded by other miscellaneous junk. She and Morrigan had spent a lot of time in front of that mirror, and though Celene hardly wished to look at it again, nothing would deter her from seeing Briala off.

“I am. Dirge went through last week and made sure it was cleared of threats.”

“I am very glad you told me that.”

“I’d hate for you to worry, your majesty.”

“I will worry anyway until I receive notice of your return to the Dales.”

“I’ll send my fastest bird.”

Celene pulled reluctantly away and tucked a stray curl behind Briala’s ear. “I’ve a meeting soon, but there is a short time after lunch where I am not needed. Is that suitable for you?”

Briala opened her mouth to ask who the meeting was with, then caught herself. Work was to be left outside of the bedroom. It would be a hard habit to break. She was so used to knowing everything about Celene, every moment, meeting, glance. And Celene was so used to telling her everything, even she seemed conflicted about her vague response, as if there was something she had forgotten. Briala smiled to put the empress at ease.

“Yes, your majesty.”

Celene frowned slightly. “Would it be strange, Bria, if I asked you not to call me that when we were alone?”

“Strange, yes,” Briala said with a grin. “But understandable.”

“I’m just…so fearful of something else coming between us. I know who I am and the weight it bears upon us both. But, with you, I think sometimes I can just be Celene.”

“As you wish…Celene. Perhaps I’ll come up with a cute nickname for you, too.”

Celene scoffed. “You haven’t in the last twenty years. I don’t know why you’d start now.”

“I’m sure I could think of something,” Briala teased as she handed Celene a cup of tea.

With a playful roll of her eyes, Celene took the tea and her first sip. It tasted just like Briala always used to make, and she smiled, pulling the elf in for one more kiss.

“Go, before my will fades.”

Briala nodded once and headed to the mirror. As she pulled it back and put one foot inside, she turned back and faced Celene with hard eyes.

“I love you,” she said with firm nod.

Celene smiled, and Briala watched her shoulders relax just the slightest bit. “I love you, too.”

Briala looked her over once, and was gone again.

* * *

 

“The Ferelden ambassador is running late, your majesty,” Jenara said as she walked beside Celene down the hallway. “A broken wheel on the way into the city. He sends his sincerest apologies.”

“Is he in need of assistance?” Celene asked, eyes focused on the door at the end of the hallway. Adele walked a few paces behind them, idly surveying the art on the wall.

“It’s been taken care of, your majesty. If you like, I could summon you once he’s arrived.”

“Yes, thank you, Jenara.” Celene stopped in front of the door and her eyes flickered from it back to Jenara, who understood.

“She’s in there, your majesty,” Jenara confirmed. “If it pleases you, should something unsavory happen to come through the mirror, Adele and I would like to remain outside.”

Celene allowed herself a small laugh and eyed the chevalier. “I don’t believe I could stop you if I tried. Do try not to eavesdrop.”

“Of course, your majesty.”

Celene smiled at Jenara, and the elf watched as her eyes drifted to her neck. There was a near imperceptible twitch to the empress’ lips, but her face remained calm as she reached out and adjusted Jenara’s collar, covering the love mark that rested on her neck. Adele shifted her footing, gripping tightly to her sword. Celene could see her dark skin was flushed with embarrassment. Jenara’s ear was twitching furiously as the elf dipped her own reddened cheeks. Celene placed a single finger to Jenara’s ear, stilling it slightly.

“Be careful, ladies,” she murmured. “Don’t give them reason to pay more attention to you.”

She cupped Jenara’s cheek in a strangely maternal gesture, then nodded to Adele before stepping inside the small room. Briala stood before the mirror and turned upon hearing the door. She was in her elven armor from the civil war with a full quiver of arrows at her back, hair pulled back tightly. Her bow and a knapsack rested against the eluvian. She looked youthful again, excited for the adventure and ready to take on the world. It was not unlike when she first returned to Celene after killing Lady Mantillon. Briala had been so full of life, so eager to start on a new path. And she wanted Celene in it. Now, Briala was again on a new path, a new life, and she still wanted Celene in it. And this time, there was nothing in the way to keep them apart.

Celene smiled as Briala neared, and removed her mask. She was painted with white makeup and in one of her decadent gowns, this one a bizarre mix of turquoise with pink lace. It looked gaudy, just the sort of thing that would be in fashion in Val Royeaux. Briala had almost forgotten the decadence of the city, the ridiculous, extravagant fashions. She’d gotten used to Celene without makeup and in simple dresses and jackets and breeches no less. Now Celene was covered in frills and fluff and lace. But underneath all of that she still held a smile she only wore for Briala, and eyes that held only love.

“You look splendid,” Celene said quietly, running her hand over the fine leather of Briala’s armor. She trailed her hand downward to rest on the hilt of the dagger at Briala’s side. Pulling it out, she recognized it as the silverite ones she’d given to Briala on the night of her return. They looked to be in pristine condition, cared for by someone who loved them, and Celene smiled.

Briala returned it and opened her arms, letting Celene fall into them. Celene was careful at first not to get her face paint on Briala, but Briala brought their cheeks together anyway, kissing across Celene’s jaw before finding her lips. When they pulled away, Celene laughed softly at the white smeared all over Briala’s face, and they took their time cleaning each other up.

“I will see you in a few months,” Celene said simply, tracing her thumb over Briala’s face.

Briala nodded, large eyes blinking rapidly to keep back tears. Whether they were from sadness or joy, she couldn’t quite be sure. “A few months. How our breasts will ache in each other’s absence.”

Celene rolled her eyes and fought to keep the smile from her face. “Jest all you want, but I know you fancy that line.”

“I know you fancy yourself for that line.”

“I know you fancy me.”

“That I do.”

They kissed once more, gently and slowly, and pulled away with their eyes still closed, neither of them wanting to break the moment just yet. Finally, Briala sighed and opened her eyes, fishing the ruby out of her pocket.

“Be safe,” Celene said as Briala turned toward the eluvian.

The elf turned and smiled at her. “I will.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Celene took a few steps back as Briala neared the mirror. A part of her, the empress part, desperately wanted to hear the phrase that unlocked the system of eluvians. But the other part of her knew that it was not worth it in the end. She had ruled for twenty years without the eluvians, and she would rule for several more without them. It was not worth losing Briala all over again. Nothing was, she was starting to realize.

Briala lifted the ruby to the door, watched it shimmer with magic, and uttered the phrase, “ _Fen’Harel enansal._ ”

The mirror continued to shimmer with magic, as it always did, but nothing more. There was no pulse of magic, no rush of wind like a door had just been opened. Briala’s hand tingled with the power from the ruby but nothing else. She placed her hand to the glass and found it hard.

Swallowing, Briala murmured the line again. Still nothing.

“Did you do something?” she spat worriedly at Celene.

“No.” The answer was simple, but lingering, and Briala didn’t dare turn around to see her own confusion reflected in Celene’s face. She needed answers, not sympathy.

She whispered the phrase again, said it just a bit louder, touched the ruby to the eluvian, but nothing happened. “What about that mage? Could she have—I don’t understand.”

It was gone. The magic was gone. Her power was gone. She could feel it, feel the emptiness inside of her.

“Bria.”

Celene’s voice was kind but too far away. Briala knew that Celene had moved this eluvian from its place in the nearby forest. She had unlocked it long ago during the civil war, and in her anger, had laughed at how easy it would be to assassinate the empress with such a tool. Now the mirror mocked her, distorted her image to resemble the fool that she was. She thought of the corpses they’d stumbled upon in the eluvians, forgotten souls. She had soldiers in there now, scouts, refugees, families, people searching for a better life. And she’d locked them in a cage. She imagined children starving, parents beating fervently against the Eluvians trying to break free, bodies withering away into ghosts, called upon to fight blindly by malevolent spirits.

Briala lashed out at the mirror. The glass crunched beneath her knuckles, webs of glass shooting up and out from beneath her hand. Her hand throbbed at the force, and she pulled it back again. Arms came around her as she punched the eluvian again. Celene turned them both as the glass shattered, expelling out and onto the floor and their clothes. Briala’s hand seized up with pain, and she felt the broken skin around her knuckle. But she clung to Celene anyway, allowing the images to overtake her, to fill her with tears and shame.

Celene held Briala tightly to her, felt the elf sobbing against her, and cast a wary eye at the eluvian. It looked like any other mirror now, the magic being shattered from it. She imagined Briala had people in there, which accounted for her outburst. Celene watched as the door to the room opened, and gently waved Adele and Jenara away. They closed the door without hesitation and Celene gently lowered the both of them to the ground.

“Children,” Briala mumbled into Celene’s collarbone, gripping at the fabric of her gown. “There were children in there, families. I…I had…”

Celene hushed her softly, letting Briala clutch at her gown and cry into her shoulder. There was a sharp sound of an object dropping to the ground, and Celene looked down to find the ruby rolling towards the door. Useless. She knew better than anyone the extent of Briala’s pain. She knew what it was like to lose people, subjects. But unlike Celene, Briala had not chosen this for her people. She strived to do well by them. And though this setback was heartbreaking, Celene knew that Briala would make it through. She always did, and it only ever made her stronger.

“Perhaps it is just this eluvian? Maybe it’s damaged or—

“No. The magic is still there, just not with me. I’ve been…locked out.”

“Surely you’ll try once more? On another eluvian?”

“Of course. I’ll try and try and try until I can try no more. But I know it is futile.”

“I’m so sorry, Bria.”

It was exceedingly rare that the empress ever apologized for anything. Lady Mantillon had taught her that it was pointless. And when Briala apologized for her betrayal, it certainly felt pointless at the time. But while endless speeches and encouraging words flowed through her head, she knew that Briala didn’t want to hear them. Briala knew all of these things herself. So Celene did the only thing she could, which was hold her love until the tears stopped.

“Bria,” Celene said once Briala had calmed down a bit. “You must return to your people.”

Briala stilled in Celene’s arms, sniffled, then pulled away with a nod of her head. “Yes, I must,” she said, wiping her eyes and examining her bloodied hand.

Celene smiled supportively at the determination in her lover’s eyes, and accepted Briala’s hand as she was helped up. “I will arrange an escort for you to the Dales. The fastest we have.”

“Thank you, Celene,” Briala said as she picked up her bow and knapsack. She wiped her eyes once more and picked up the ruby. “I’ll send word as soon as I’ve arrived. And a report.”

“Thank you.”

Briala turned the ruby over in her hand a few times, then scoffed, tossing it to Celene. The empress caught it and held it tightly between her fingers. “Giving me your castoffs?” she asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Though Briala was still clearly devastated, the soft smile on her lips gave the empress hope. “You’ve pined after it long enough. Make it into a necklace.”

“A new locket, perhaps?”

Briala looked and noticed for the first time that, indeed, Celene wore the same long chain that plunged into her chest, concealing Briala’s locket from view but keeping it close to her heart all the same. Fresh tears pressed at her eyes as she came over and traced the chain. “It’s quite a large jewel. Perhaps you could make two from it.”

Celene placed her hand over Briala’s. “It will give you something to look forward to during these…tragic times.”

Briala nodded and Celene leaned in to kiss her once more. “It will work out, Bria. Eventually. I have faith in you. Pain has, unfortunately, always served you well. But you are strong, capable, and so very smart.”

“Yes, and I have the support of the Empress of Orlais, who is also strong, capable, and smart.”

“Always.”

With a final squeeze of Briala’s hand, Celene let her go and applied her mask before pulling the door open. Both Adele and Jenara bowed deeply and were quickly sent off to prepare Briala’s escort. They worked quickly, as Celene ordered, and in a short time Briala was climbing up into a carriage led by the finest coursers money could buy. They wouldn’t get her to the Dales faster than the Eluvians, and she would spend all her journey fretting about it. But Celene was right. It would work out.

Celene couldn’t wait to see her off this time. An empress’ time was valuable, after all. Briala looked up into the several windows of the imperial palace. She knew the rooms by heart, and couldn’t help but searching the few she thought the empress might occupy. As the carriage pulled away, Briala caught sight of Celene. That turquoise dress was unmistakable and though she was too far to see her face, Briala could see that the empress was waving. Briala waved too, unsure if Celene could even see it, and sat back against the seat.

It would work out. 


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that two chapters were posted at once. Make sure you read the previous chapter.

It had been a year since Briala lost the eluvians. A year since the hole in the sky closed, a year of so many things. Briala walked the statues leading up to the palace of Val Royeaux and was reminded of the first time she did this with the title of marquise in front of her name. So much had happened in that time, and amazingly, she had come out of it. Not unscathed—in fact she learned her wrist would never quite be as strong as it once was—but perhaps it was all for the best.

Celene was continuously making good on her promises to better the lives of the elves. Briala continued to have to watch her patience on certain matters, but she could see the improvement. It was a slow process, but one that kept violence and ambivalence at bay. And since Celene’s united front with Ferelden, both Tevinter and Nevarra had lessened their aggression against Orlais. Even the Orlesians could not argue with that point, and for the moment it seemed there was not a high price on Celene’s head.

Still, that didn’t mean that there wasn’t much to do. Briala neared the gate to the Imperial Palace and suppressed a smirk as the guards recognized her and began to open the gate. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised; she’d visited the palace so often it may as well have been her second home. And in a way, it was. Climbing the stairs with ease, Briala was met with a servant, an elven boy, who bowed low.

“Her Imperial Majesty welcomes you, Marquise Briala of the Dales,” he said stiffly, as if he feared he would forget his lines. “Empress Celene wishes to see you at your earliest convenience.”

“Of course, take me to her,” Briala answered, the both of them knowing that the empress waited at the convenience of no one.

He led her up the stairs and to one of the familiar studies where Celene often engaged in talks with nobles. Briala, as always, arrived before the empress. As she was escorted into the room, however, she noticed a flash of fire red hair in the corner. Jenara stood small and meekly against the wall, head lowered and eyes fixated on the teapot beside her. To anyone else, she would be unnoticeable. But Briala knew better, and even still she was impressed. Jenara had come far this past year, Briala’s own network of spies had told her so. And now Briala could see it for herself, growing stronger with each of her visits. There was a glint of calculation behind those eyes, and a confidence even to her subdued demeanor that did not exist before.

“Good afternoon, Jenara,” Briala said politely, watching Jenara’s ear twitch as she lifted her head.

“Good afternoon, Marquise.”

“I trust things are going well.”

“Insofar as they can, my lady.”

Briala recognized Jenara’s words as a play in the Game. A warning, perhaps, or a caution against Celene’s mood. Something was troubling the empress. Before Briala could think to ask another question, the door opened. Briala turned and bowed deeply as Celene entered the room in a soft green gown. Her bodice was laden with golden stitching that resembled something of an elven design, and they trailed lower to cover her gown as well. Briala noticed the long chain that descended into her bosom but kept her smile at bay.

Behind Celene came her chevalier, just as large and imposing as ever. She appeared to be more confident as well, relaxed in the presence of the empress and her court. Though, appropriately, she did flash Briala a somewhat warning glare, as Celene’s champions were wont to do, to ensure proper etiquette when speaking to the empress. Briala gave her an understanding nod and listened as Adele moved behind her to stand next to Jenara.

“Tea, please,” Celene called quietly, and Briala heard the sounds of tea being poured.

Celene remained silent until she had tea in her hand. Briala took the cup offered to her as well and cradled it in her palm. Taking a small sip, the empress closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was no worry to her features, no unease to her posture. And yet Briala would not put her guard down.

“How goes your dealings with the refugees, Marquise?” Celene asked finally. “Our latest report shows dwindling numbers, despite a surplus in your trade.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Briala answered. “Refugee counts are dwindling, which I take as a good sign that the world is finally getting back to its feet. However, with negotiations of a few Dalish clans, as well as establishing permanent homes for craftsmen, elven crafts are in high demand.”

“Yes, I believe elven leather is the peak of fashion this year, as well as their darling little designs.” Celene traced a finger over her gown and Briala smiled politely. It went unsaid that Celene had encouraged elven designs in her outfits to establish the fashion in Val Royeaux and that it was Briala’s idea to do so. Briala allowed Celene’s patronizing remark about elven designs to roll easily off of her, given that the boy who opened the door for the empress was still in the room, head bowed. Appearances must always be kept up, after all.

Still, for all their discretion, people were catching on. Neither Briala nor Celene could miss the gossip, the wandering eyes and self-satisfied smirks. Briala visited far too often, and when she did, Celene had the propensity to fall ill or fatigued and spend most of her time in bed. They couldn’t be certain, of course, but they could put two and two together just like any other adequate player of the Game. What was interesting, however, was that so far no one seemed to want to use Celene’s lover against her. They certainly could, but did they feel that it was a secret already shared? If everyone secretly knew, how much damage could be done by letting such a secret out? Briala believed that the nobles got a sort of hidden thrill at the idea, as if Celene had divulged her secrets to them personally. And while it wasn’t particularly fun to be the subject of many a scandalous gossip, it was certainly better than the alternative.

“They suit you beautifully, your majesty,” Briala answered, dipping her head politely to the designs on Celene’s gown.

Celene gave an arrogant grin, as an empress should when complimented, and set her tea on the table. “I wonder, Marquise, if you’re aware of the recent elven migrations?”

Briala swallowed, and looked to Celene’s eyes for a hint. They had discussed this matter in letters, but was Briala supposed to know of it yet? Celene lifted her chin just slightly, and Briala gave her response.

“I have, your majesty.”

“I don’t suppose you’d have any knowledge as to their whereabouts?”

“I’m afraid not. I’ve sent scouts in the direction of the migration, but they seem to have just vanished.”

Celene made no show of it, but the slight pause before she spoke told Briala that this concerned her greatly. And it concerned Briala, too. She’d heard whispers among her own estate of elves debating on whether or not to go. But any inquiries were left unanswered. Even Dirge and Variel, her must trusted confidantes, could not find out of what they were speaking. Indeed, it seemed that the elves were purposely keeping this information from her, which was another fear all on its own.

“The migrating numbers are not of concern yet,” Celene said simply. “But if more continue to…disappear, then it will be yet another threat on our borders.”

“You speak of the Inquisition, majesty?”

“The massive army led by a Free Marcher that freely squats on my land? Yes, I do. The Inquisition served its purpose but now it is simply an army with no one to fight. And while Trevelyan has certainly be amendable, she doesn’t believe herself to be under Orlesian rule. None of the Inquisition does, and I am not used to being the subservient.”

Briala took a sip of her tea to hide her smile. Celene was only subservient to one person, and it was not the Inquisitor. Still, she could understand the delicate nature of the situation.

 “They should be disbanded.”

“I was more thinking integrated. Much like what you have done with the elves.”

“I imagine Ferelden is none too keen on that idea.”

Celene flashed Briala a look that resembled pride before was hidden away by stoicism. “Despite our peace and alliances, the queen still fears another Orlesian attack. I cannot blame her, given Ferelden’s history with war, but neither can I see the logic in disbanding a perfectly good army with an excellent leader at its head.”

“Having the Inquisition as part of Orlesian forces would also quell the murmurs that the empress has gone soft on militant matters again.”

“Indeed. Divine Victoria cannot stall the Exalted Council forever. And when it is called, Ferelden will answer as well. Can I trust in your support, Marquise, as a representative for the elves?”

“Of course, your majesty. I also offer any and all services you may require on discovering the location of these migrating elves.”

“Thank you, Marquise, you are too kind.”

* * *

 

Finally behind the safety of her bedchambers, Celene allowed her shoulders to fall and breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a long day of yet more unanswered questions on the migrating elves and the situation with the Inquisition. Celene felt that she was in a state of liminality, teetering on the threshold of something as grand and as terrifying as the breach in the sky turned out to be. Peace never truly lasted in Thedas, least of all in Orlais, and Celene pulled her mask off to rub at tired eyes.

“Long day, Celene?” Briala asked quietly, stepping into the room with her nightgown already on.

“Aren’t they always?” Celene answered with a smile, nearing the elf and taking her into her arms. They kissed slowly, Briala mindful of Celene’s still painted face, and Celene hummed as she pulled away. “It’s good to see you, my love.”

Briala smiled and turned Celene around to help her out of her gown. “Variel found a new article, written by someone at the University in Denerim, claiming that elves are part demon because of our enhanced eyesight in the night. He told me to pass it along, in case you were feeling…scholarly.”

Celene laughed in spite of herself and breathed a sigh of relief as her gown and corset came away. “I am flattered he enjoyed my rebuttal, but as I’ve said, it was a one time lapse in judgment.”

“That, and you must believe that elves are part demon,” Briala teased as she laid the gown over a chair.

“Desire demon, perhaps,” Celene said, coming up behind Briala and putting her arms around her.

Briala leaned back against Celene and closed her eyes. The time apart was hard, but moments like this more than made up for it. It couldn’t be constant, but it would be forever. Of this, Briala was certain. Celene kissed her cheek and Briala turned her head to give the empress more room. She felt Celene’s lips gently graze against her eyelids, and a thumb traced beneath her eyes.

“You look tired, Bria.”

“A few sleepless nights. Nothing to worry about,” Briala answered, turning in Celene’s arms to face her. “I’m sure tonight will give me the respite I’ve so desired.”

“Desired, huh?” Celene said with a raise of her eyebrow. “Are you certain you’re not a demon?”

“I don’t think it’d stop if you if I was.”

Celene chuckled and shook her head. “No, no it wouldn’t.”

Wrapping her arms around Briala’s back, Celene began to move slowly to a song in her head. She heard Briala laugh against her, but moved with her all the same. They danced slowly to the music in their own heads, no real rhythm other than swaying with each other. Celene thought back to the time Briala danced in Jader, when all eyes were upon her, and held Briala tightly to her. She felt Briala kissing her shoulder and smiled, pulling away enough for them to kiss properly.

“Come to bed and tell me about the Dales,” she said to Briala once they pulled away, taking her hand and leading her to the bed.

And Briala did just that, relaxing into her favorite spot, on top of Celene’s chest, and talking about anything but work. Celene held her tightly, like she always did, and Briala found that she often missed the feeling of Celene’s strong arms around her, holding her as if she’d slip away at any moment. Celene needn’t worry, of course, but it was nice to feel wanted all the same. Briala didn’t remember when exactly she fell asleep, only that Celene’s heartbeat was even and her breaths were calm and the hand running softly through her hair felt so nice.

When Briala woke, Celene was gone. And instead of lying on a bed made of the finest materials coin could buy, she was instead lying on dew-soaked grass. Briala grimaced as she sat up and tried to wipe the moisture from her face and arms. The wind blew gently, but it was enough make her shiver, goose bumps running along her arms. It was dim, but not too much, and she could clearly make out the features of the strange hollow she was in.

Though outside, she was surrounded by elven architecture. It rose high into the sky and was lined with beautiful arches and smooth details. Etchings were inscribed on some of the walls, Elvhen, but she could not read it. Briala crossed her arms around herself and wondered briefly if Celene had betrayed her. But even this seemed too extravagant for the empress. She looked around again, half hoping to see Celene lying somewhere next to her, but she was alone, and a sense of dread crept into her chest. She was still in her nightgown, and save for a few thick branches, no weapons to speak of. She’d had dreams of this, waking up in a cold, dark place. It had accounted for her sleepless nights as of late. But none had felt as real as this.

“ _Aneth ara, da’len_.”

Briala spun around at the words, braced for a fight, and gazed upon an elf she’d never seen before. He was nearly as pale as Celene with shrewd eyes and a gleaming, hairless head. He wore armor Briala had never seen before, and carried a staff that seemed so powerful Briala could feel the tendrils of magic even from her distance away. Briala clenched her jaw and held her head high, refusing to let this elf see any fear from her.

He smiled, but she did not trust it, and stepped near. “You need not be afraid. I come in peace.”

“You will forgive me if I am not soothed by your words.”

“Of course, I understand. This must be a shock for you, without the familiarity of a memory.” He gestured around the hollow and Briala felt her throat go dry.

“ _Somniari,”_ she said slowly. “We’re in my dreams.”

“Felassan said you were a clever girl. I see his trust was not entirely misplaced.”

“You were Felassan. When he came to me in my dreams.”

The elf’s head dipped in apology. “Yes. An unfortunate incident. Had I known that Mihris would be so…violent, I never would have sent her to you.”

“You were Mihris’…employer?”

He chuckled again, though there was no amusement in it. “You have heard the tales of Fen’Harel, yes? Have you heard the one of the wolf and the courser?”

“Yes, Fen’Harel had to bite off his own tail to escape the courser.”

“And had to think twice about playing tricks when a dog was on guard. It seems that I did not learn that lesson as well as I thought.”

Briala frowned and took a step back. “Surely you’re not implying—

“Felassan also said that you reminded him of me. At the time, I wasn’t so sure if it was a compliment. But now I think it was.”

“You expect me to believe that you are Fen’Harel?”

“Is it really so hard to? I was powerful enough to enter your mind and manipulate it to my will. I still can, given that you’re in my memories, not yours.”

“Felassan was a _somniari_ , and the Inquisition had one as well. Hardly god-worthy.”

He chuckled again, and Briala could see that he liked her, in some small way. She didn’t know much about magic, but his glowing staff never changed in brightness, which she took as a good sign that he wasn’t about to immediately attack her. If he did, she knew she would not stand a chance.

“It has been some time, but I suppose you would like to know that those who were in the eluvians were not harmed when you lost them.”

Briala swallowed. It had been some time, but still she thought about those people every day. When she returned to the Dales, she sent every available agent to the nearest Eluvians, hoping one of them could unlock the mirrors. They had all been unsuccessful, just she had. Briala destroyed the one in her office as well. It was too big a threat when not under her control. She’d accepted that those lost were dead now, and somehow that made this new knowledge hurt even worse. She had abandoned them. And they must have surely felt abandoned by them, because none of them had returned to the refuge she offered.

“When I took them from you, I found them in there, in transit to the shelter you were going to provide. And I offered them the route, but I also gave them an offer of my own, which they accepted. It’s the same offer I’m giving you now.”

“Many foul beasts with enough power think themselves gods. The Inquisitor slayed one just like you a year ago. I don’t want to hear what you have to say.”

“I never claimed to be a god. Surely someone as smart as you knows how fables can manipulate truths. You know all about deception, don’t you, Briala?”

He took advantage of Briala’s surprise and stepped near her, circling not unlike a wolf, and studied her intently with his arms behind his back. “I saw your memories, your thoughts, emotions, while inside your mind. It was a struggle at first. You are very strong willed, and I was weak. But eventually I broke through. I witnessed your childhood, the death of your parents, times with Felassan, Lady Mantillon, and Celene. Your journey with her through the eluvians, her betrayal, your defiance. And looking at them, I could understand why Felassan did not give me the passphrase. At the time I was arrogant, upset, but now I see that he was not wrong. There is a lot of potential in you, a lot of myself that I see when I first started out, before the power…”

“You killed Felassan,” Briala ground out. “He was my mentor, my friend.”

“He was my friend as well. I took no joy in it. But he defied me, and he knew the risks of doing so.”

“Is that how the great Fen’Harel works? Anyone not worthy of him is put to death? I pray we are not alike in the slightest.”

“And who is it you say this prayer to?” Fen’Harel asked as he stepped in front of her. He eyed her severely, and while she longed to get away from him, she met his glare with her own, fists clenched at her sides.

“To Mythal? Sylaise? The Maker? Andraste’s tits is a common one. Do they answer? I felt your faith leave you at the death of your parents, and rekindle with Felassan’s stories. But it’s not quite enough, is it? You find it hard to believe in something that’s too good to be true.”

Surprisingly, his eyes softened, a tender look in them that Briala thought he was incapable of making. “Stories and myths hold more lies than truths, _da’len_. As I’m sure you’ve learned by now.”

“I am Fen’Harel, yes. But I am not a god. I never was. We never were. The gods the Dalish pray to were no more than tyrannical magisters, who enslaved those who were not as strong as them. I fought for their freedom. And in doing so…I destroyed us.”

Briala listened as Fen’Harel told the story of his people, his actions, Mythal, and how he created the Veil between the fade and the mortal world which ultimately ended up being the downfall of the elves. He told her about his slumber, about waking to find a world of humans and dwarves and qunari, and the state the elves were in. Briala could understand his anger, his surprise, at having his entire world shattered in a single moment.

“Now, with Mythal’s guidance, I finally have the power to set things right. This is the offer I’ve made to the migrating elves, the same offer I now make to you. Join us, Briala. Join us bringing back Arlathan, bringing the elves back to their former glory. You are a great leader; the people follow you, believe in you. You would do well at my side.”

Briala narrowed her eyes. “How would you bring back Arlathan, the elves?”

“I would sever the connection between the fade and the mortal world, restoring what once was.”

“I’m sure that small feat comes without consequence.”

Fen’Harel laughed again, but it was somber. “It comes at great consequence. Those who are not elven would be destroyed.”

In spite of herself, Briala laughed. She knew he was not, but still felt compelled to ask, “You are jesting?”

“Regrettably, I am not. I do not wish for them to suffer, I will not have them suffer, but it is the only way to restore the elves.”

“That’s not true. Elves are making great strides in Orlais. They—

“Are paraded around at parties like prized pets. Even you, Briala, as the empress’ love, have to hide behind the shadow of a mirror. The Marquise of the Dales, pride of elves everywhere, is…what is that memory, ‘a jumped up kitchen slut.’”

Briala clenched her jaw, ashamed at the warmth that flooded her cheeks. “You know nothing of—

“But I do,” Fen’Harel said, tapping a finger to his head.

“I did not allow you into my mind. What you did, _are doing_ , is a perversion.”

“If I could visit you in person, I would. But I have been busy, as of late, as you can imagine. Consider it, at least, Briala. Think of all the refugees you’ve helped, walking in a new light. No humans to persecute them or qunari to conquer them. Only elves, back where they should be. Is that not what you have always wanted, what our people have always wanted?”

It was tempting, to be sure. Briala learned from the best that sometimes sacrifices were necessary. She imagined Arlathan in her mind, glowing and beautiful with smiling elves everywhere. She would lose Celene, yes. Lose everyone not elven.

“You need not decide now,” Fen’Harel said gently. “It is a monumental decision.”

“All the more reason to get it over with,” Briala snapped. Fen’Harel seemed to grasp her anger and nodded, stepping away.

Briala thought of when she was a girl, the few but memorable times when she was whipped for something asinine. She thought of the times a young Celene was cruel to her simply because she could be, when Briala longed to pop her on the nose but was forced instead to keep her head down. She thought of her friends with scars and burns, thought of the screams in the alley, the chevalier’s cruel smiles and the nobles patronizing words. She thought of _mien’harel_ , of elves who were butchered for minor slights like throwing rocks. She thought of the burning slums of Halamshiral, of Celene’s promises and half-truths.

She thought of the elves in the Dales, just as happy as the ones she imagined at Arlathan. She thought of their trade, the surplus of elven goods. She thought of the truce with Ferelden and queen Anora’s efforts. She thought of Celene, who was surely sleeping beside her. Celene who had endured all of Briala’s cruelty and loved her all the same. Celene who fought as much as she was able for the elves, for her.

Fen’Harel smiled, the weary grimace of the burdens of rule, not unlike the empress’, not unlike her own.

Briala thought of her people, thought of Fen’Harel, thought of Celene, and made her decision.

She awoke as if she had not been asleep at all. Her head shot up, hands instinctively gripping Celene’s sides as she surveyed the room. There was no wolf in the shadows. Celene’s hand fell upon Briala’s, where she gripped tightly, and Briala let go quickly, rubbing Celene’s side in apology.

“Bria, what’s the matter?” Celene asked, sitting up and reaching out to touch Briala’s cheek.

Briala felt her touch, the warmth and softness of Celene’s hand, and placed hers over top of it. She leaned forward and kissed Celene gently. “Nothing. A bad dream. We should go back to sleep.”

“Are you sure you’re well?”

“I’m sure.”

Briala gently pushed Celene back onto the pillows and resumed her place on the empress’ chest. Celene went back to stroking her hair and Briala held her tightly as she looked out into the dark room. Tonight would not be the last she would see of Fen’Harel, and the repercussions of his plan, enacted or not, would be severe.

“Celene,” she called, feeling Celene’s hand still on her head.

“Yes, Bria?”

“I love you,” Briala said, rising up to give her one last kiss.

“I love you, too,” Celene said as Briala pulled away. “What brought that on?”

Briala shrugged and snuggled back onto Celene’s chest. “Never know what could happen. I just want to make sure you know that, no matter what happens.”

Celene didn’t say anything for a few moments, but she did resume her calm caress of Briala’s head. “It must have been some dream,” she said finally, holding Briala to her.

Briala could only nod and cling to her empress, hoping for sleep as she prayed to whoever would listen that she made the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! The Most Dangerous Game is completed, everyone. I cannot express my gratitude to those who read, gave kudos, commented, made art, asked questions etc. I've had more popular fics, but I have never had a level of quality like you readers provided. It meant so, so much to read your comments, which were always thorough and kind and definitely took considerable effort to write. From the people who wrote paragraphs to those who just dropped a nice line, to those who simply read quietly, thank you from the bottom of Celene's big, gay heart.
> 
> And yes, I did leave the story on a cliffhanger. What did Briala choose? Truthfully I have no idea, as DA4 has yet to be released. Here's hoping we're all still around after DA4 for a continuation story ;)
> 
> Finally, if anyone is interested, I have a tumblr under the same name where I've been getting a lot of asks about Celene and Briala. There's a few short stories and cute headcanons if you search through jocelyntorrent.tumblr.com/tagged/the+wives


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